


Fool's Justice

by Aphaia



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Novelization, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Limited, Past Tense, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 45,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28439205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aphaia/pseuds/Aphaia
Summary: Edgerunner V accepts a gig from a local politician and forms an unlikely partnership with a cop. Eventual romance/angst/fluff/character development.
Relationships: Female V/River Ward
Comments: 59
Kudos: 162





	1. The gig

**Author's Note:**

> This is mostly going to be Female V/River Ward romance fluff because I felt like the game needed more! The story starts with the quest "I Fought the Law." For the first several chapters, it will follow River's quests pretty closely and incorporate a lot of dialogue from the game (so there will be spoilers for the game if you haven't played), but then I plan to expand into original territory, featuring some of my favorite characters and relationships.
> 
> I'm taking strong liberties with the main plot of the game. Spoilers follow: While V did complete the Arasaka heist, I am omitting Johnny Silverhand's construct and some of the implications for the Relic. V is still out to get Arasaka and has teamed up with Takemura, but aside from that, I'm not sure how much the main plot of the game will come into play.
> 
> The title is an allusion to the tarot cards in the game that represent V and River.

“You use your BD halo again?” Judy Alvarez asked over the holo.

Leaning against a light pole, V replied, “Haven’t had the opportunity, actually. It’s been…ah…hectic lately.” It was an understatement, but there was too much subtext to spill over an unsecure connection. Not that she didn’t trust Judy, of course, but she couldn’t risk anyone who might be listening in.

Out of habit, she glanced up and down the street. V was standing on a side street in Little China. From a few blocks over, Megabuilding H10 cast a long shadow over the street, blocking what little sunlight peered through the thick cloud cover. Uncollected trash bags overflowed dumpsters and lined the sidewalks. Flashing lights from banks of vending machines and bright panels of advertisements contrasted with building facades made grungy with smog.

Pedestrians walked up and down, wearing eclectic collections of neon streetwear. At the top of the street, a group of young people loitered near a radio. The music was blasting loud enough for V to hear over the drone of traffic. She couldn’t tell if they were Tyger Claws, one of the lesser gangs, or just posers. No one on the street was paying her any particular attention.

“You might have the chance to,” Judy said. “I passed along your info to an Elizabeth Peralez. She contacted me asking about someone who had a touch for BDs. Thought you might need the work.”

“Ah, so that was you,” answered V. “I was wonderin’. I’m headed to meet her now, actually. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

“Sure thing, V,” said Judy, and the light from V’s Agent clicked off.

That was one mystery solved, at least, she thought as she shoved her Agent into her back pocket. V was always wary when a new gig didn’t come through a fixer. It was dangerous to circumvent the fixers. If they found out you were trying to cut them out of the cashflow, best case would be they’d stop sending you contracts. Worst case, they’d take a contract out on you.

V knew of Elizabeth Peralez, wife of Night City politician and mayoral candidate Jefferson Peralez. Jefferson had made a name for himself by refusing any and all offers of corporate sponsorship, or so the rumors went. It put him in stark contrast with the current acting mayor, Weldon Holt, who was widely known to be in Arasaka’s pocket. The Peralezes’ independence made them favorable in V’s eyes, but she couldn’t fathom why that caliber of client would contact her directly. Even if they didn’t take corpo money directly, they still benefited from the corpo lifestyle, living in a penthouse in Corpo Plaza, with platinum Trauma Team subscriptions and full-time security detail.

On the other hand, it might be a good sign, meaning her reputation for braindance work was getting around. It could mean more gigs. Specialization. Higher rates. Before her thoughts could trail off, she shook herself back to reality. Better not to get carried away. Getting carried away was how folks got zeroed and dumped in a trash bin somewhere. V shuddered. The thought was too near. Too raw.

She’d see the Peralezes and take the gig if it checked out. If not, she’d block them and lay low for a bit. She doubted there was much danger in the meetup, at least. Elizabeth had readily agreed to V’s rate, even promising to cover expenses, provisional on an initial meeting to discuss the job.

V stood up straight and dusted herself off. She somewhat regretted her casual choice of wardrobe today. She hadn’t figured on a gig coming through. The morning she’d spent at Vik’s clinic, finalizing the calibration on her new mantis blade implants. They were cherry, real preem. Finding them had been a stroke of luck, too. She’d picked them up from a gig to neutralize a cyberpsycho, The job itself had nearly gone sideways – she’d think long and hard before taking another – but the guy’d had quite the cache of goods. Mantis blades were very rare.

V’d had a good long think about installing them. It would be her most invasive cyberware procedure yet. She pushed back the fuzzy sleeves of her cropped sweater, marveling once again at the barely-visible silver tracery all along her forearms, seams where her arm would come apart and unsheathe the blades. She didn’t really know how to use them besides a straightforward stab. She still needed to save up the eddies to buy a combat implant – not that she even knew where to source one yet – but the pros had eventually outweighed the cons.

One, they meant she was never unarmed.

Two, they meant a boost to her rep – once people found out, that was, which was inevitable – and that she might get more ops jobs. People tended to see only a feminine young woman and overlook her for the high stakes gigs. While her looks were advantageous for some jobs where she needed to allay a target’s suspicions or hide in plain sight, she was ready for high stakes.

Three, and most persuasively, they were manufactured by Arasaka. There was something poetic about using Arasaka’s weapons to dismantle the corp from the inside.

The operation had been long, but Viktor Vector was the best ripperdoc in Night City, or such was V’s opinion. The morning’s follow-up calibration had gone smoothly, and Vik seemed pleased for once that she wasn’t being hauled in for an emergency patch job. There had been a smug air of satisfaction on the old doc’s face as he took her through the exercises.

She rolled the sleeves back down. Best to look unassuming, rather than decked out in top-of-the-line chrome. She swung a denim-clad leg over the back of the tuned-up Arch Nazare she’d inherited from her dearest friend, Jackie Welles, upon his passing. She kickstarted the engine, which fired with a loud rumble. People knew you were coming on that bike. She’d warned Jackie as much when he first bought it, but he’d been so damn proud of the thing.

The rendezvous spot was a couple of kilometers away, in the loading zone out back of a corpo tower in City Center. Despite the lunch rush, V made good time. A sleek silver car was parked, suited-up huscle standing outside the rear driver’s side door.

“Are you V?” the huscle asked as she walked up.

“Mhm,” she replied, and he opened the door for her.

“Please, have a seat.”

V slid onto the white seat. Real leather, she noted, surreptitiously rubbing a palm along the grain. She looked up to face Jefferson Peralez in the back seat next to her wearing a dark suit and crisp white button-down. His wife, Elizabeth, twisted around to face V from the front passenger seat. She had slicked-back dark hair and a fitted couture dress. Everything about them reeked of eddies.

“I’m Jeff Peralez,” the man said. “And you’ve already spoken with my wife, Elizabeth.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Peralez. Mrs. Peralez,” V replied, shaking his hand and nodding a greeting to Elizabeth.

“Hm, right again, Liz,” Jefferson said to his wife. Turning back to V, he continued, “You see, my wife is a great judge of character. Said this would work. Now I see why.”

“Peralez,” mused V. “The one running for mayor of Night City?” She already knew this, of course, but she wanted to gauge their response.

“ _The_ one,” Elizabeth nodded.

“So the one who was DA until recently but just vaulted into a seat on the city council,” V pushed, arching an eyebrow.

Jefferson’s nod was sober. “I gather you now understand why discretion is of the utmost importance.”

V nodded in response. “So – whaddaya got for me?”

Elizabeth motioned to the driver. “Carter, let’s go.” The car eased into motion, smooth as butter. The driver turned one corner and then another. They were headed north toward Corpo Plaza.

Elizabeth continued, “Well, as you’re probably aware, Mayor Lucius Rhyne recently passed.”

V was indeed aware. It had happened only a few weeks ago. “It was all over the news,” she remarked, and Elizabeth scoffed, “Pf, of course it was. Media feasted for weeks. Pieces like that are their lifeblood.” V could sense that it was a touchy subject. She imagined any politician – or politician’s spouse – lived in dread of a media scandal.

Jefferson added, “We want to know how, why, whatever else is pertinent.”

“You think they missed something?”

Both nodded, and Elizabeth said, “We have reason to believe they did, yes.”

V settled back as the car slid to a stop at an intersection. “Far as I remember, someone tried to zero Rhyne a few days before his death.”

“The NCPD sees no link,” Elizabeth said. “They’re saying it was a random cyberpsycho attack.”

“And claimin’ the mayor died of natural causes,” replied V.

“Causes unrelated to the attack, even though Rhyne died later the same day. It’s in the official reports. Rhyne died at home due to a ‘cardioimplant malfunction.’”

V agreed it sounded fishy. The mayor would have top-shelf implants, not to mention near-immediate response from Trauma Team. Even if he up and flatlined it seemed there’d be a good shot that TT could resuscitate him before brain damage set in.

Her mind returned to her clients. She assessed the situation. “These suspicions of yours…” mused V. “They wouldn’t have anything to do with the upcoming election, would they?”

“’Course they would,” Jefferson agreed readily. V liked that he was upfront about it at least. “If Lucius Rhyne was murdered, we want to know. Need to know.” She nodded. The job seemed on the up-and-up. Even if they were too polished for her blood, the Peralezes seemed straightforward. No dancing around like most politicians trying to find an angle.

“What makes you think the cops got it wrong?” she asked. “Got any evidence?”

“Shortly before Rhyne passed, he made cuts in the NCPD budget. Perhaps got on someone’s bad side that way,” Elizabeth said. Seemed too weak a motive for murder to V, but maybe enough motive to mishandle evidence about the case.

Jefferson continued. “In any case, we have the cyberpsycho attack on a BD.”

“Our chief of security scanned it but didn’t find anything out of the ordinary, so to speak…We need a braindance editor, a real one. It’s raw footage.

V nodded along, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not surprising that their huscle couldn’t get anything from it, but any number of freelance hackers would be better at analyzing a raw BD than she was. What was the catch?

“The braindance – it has to be back where it belongs today. Or a lot of people will be in a lot of trouble. If you agree to help, you can see it right now.”

There it was. The reason they needed her. No chair-jockey, V’s specialty was on-site netrunning. Hacking on the fly. Fortunately, she’d brought her halo with her. She unfolded it. Jefferson proffered the shard.

“Where’d you get the scroll?” she asked, slotting it in.

“Rhyne was at a public appearance. BD scrolling’s standard procedure for events like that. Following the attack, the NCPD impounded the footage as evidence.”

“We had to pull many strings to extract it,” added Elizabeth.

“Let’s see what I can do,” V said, preparing to dive in.

“Excellent. We’d be happy with any find that would clarify things, alleviate lingering doubts.”

V slipped on the halo, slotting it into her neural port, and switched it on. Flickering blue lights filled her vision, and then she was standing face to face with a wide-jawed personal security guard. The ample figure of Mayor Rhyne paced behind him, going over a speech. The huscle was warning her not to stare at the asses of the crowd again. V sensed the indignation of the body she inhabited; it jarred with her own feelings of amusement. She took the opportunity to switch the footage to editing mode.

Ordinarily in a braindance, the viewer felt what the recorder felt. Saw what they saw. Sensed what they sensed. But market-ready BD’s were edited toward specific emotions. They provided a polished viewing experience, aimed to target very particular sensations. They were mostly for porn. Some people got their kicks in other ways, robbing a store, jumping out of a plane. Anything with an adrenaline rush. Sickos paid a premium for virtus of people snuffing it. Those were illegal, of course, but demand was astronomical.

However, in a raw BD like this one, there was no editing, only the captured footage. Inhabiting the recorder’s body, so to speak, would only be a distraction. Her halo, tuned by the expert hand of Judy Alvarez, let her explore everything in the scene the machine had picked up, even things like infrared or sounds too quiet for ordinary ears.

She paused the recording and took some time getting acquainted with the room. In addition to the mayor and security staff was Weldon Holt, at the time the deputy mayor of Night City. Not long before the action started, Holt and his bodyguards left the room through a back exit. Odd, that. Why would he leave before the press conference started? Being tipped to the attack would be one reason.

Just before his timely exit, Holt had struck up a conversation with Rhyne, chastising him about spreading himself too thin with a third press conference in as many days. The huscle recording the footage was distracted, so she tuned into the audio channel to better hear their conversation. The mayor asked if his room was ready at the Red Queen’s Race for after the conference. V hadn’t heard of the place. A club, maybe? At any rate, the mayor hadn’t planned to go straight home.

The huscle moved to the entrance of the room while Rhyne practiced. She was limited by the range of the recorder, so she couldn’t get any more footage of the mayor. The huscle had a good view of the security gate, and it wasn’t long before a tall man strode through the scanner and insisted that he needed to speak with the mayor. The NCPD scanner of her Kiroshi optical implant listed him as one Detective River Ward. The huscle reluctantly let the badge through, and as he left recording range V swung her attention back to the security gate. Almost immediately, a man in a blue trench coat with frazzled hair walked through. His hands were thrust in his pockets, and he hummed monotonously to himself, the same pitches over and over. She paused and rewound, focusing her attention on the security terminal. The computer screen crashed at the same moment the man walked through the scanner. Instinctively, she knew the glitch was no accident.

She scanned the man. The results listed him as one Peter Horvath, the rogue attacker. She could see the medical exam summary from the NCPD’s report. Balding. Male. Mid-40s. Cause of injury: subconjunctival hemorrhage. It was miraculous he’d survived. One interesting note was that he was decked out in enough top-of-the-line combat cyberware that he could’ve taken out the whole building if he’d wanted. Explained how he could crash the terminal so quickly. And survive a shot to the brain.

In the blink of an eye, a hidden blade appeared and Horvath stabbed the huscle. He never stopped humming. The recording had only seconds left as the life drained out of the recorder’s body. The BD was linked to his lived experience. Wouldn’t work he were no longer living.

Horvath sprinted toward the mayor. From the edge of the recording’s limits came sudden gunfire. Horvath collapsed, and the detective strode into view. He checked the pulse on the attacker’s body and the recording went dark.

V rewatched the recording a few more times but wasn’t able to get any more info. There seemed a few salient facts. One, Holt left right before the attack. Two, Holt was supposed to prepare a room for Rhyne at the Red Queen’s Race. Meant Holt knew where the mayor was headed. Three, Horvath was packing some very expensive cyberware. It seemed odd for a random attacker with no connections. Four, Detective River Ward was the only currently-living person besides the attacker himself to witness what happened. Four and a half, Ward had good timing. Maybe _too_ good.

V flicked off the power switch and unplugged the halo. Blinking, she realized that the car was stopped. The Peralezes were no longer inside the vehicle. An AV waited for them on a nearby landing pad. Elizabeth was already inside. The door to the AV was open, and V could see she was preoccupied with her Agent. Jefferson stood near V’s door, standing with arms crossed. V wondered how long they’d been there. He waited patiently for her senses to readjust after she exited the car, and then asked, “Did you, uh, see anything suspicious, anything at all? Or are we paranoid?”

“Yeah, too many strange ‘coincidences’, that’s for certain. I’ve got a few ideas to follow up on,” V replied handing the shard back to him.

“Huh…so suspicions confirmed.” He didn’t seem enthused about this news, and no wonder. Someone had it out for Night City politicians, it seemed.

“Why was the conference held?” V asked.

“For no particular reason. Rhyne liked the sound of his voice and seeing himself on TV.” Jefferson took a drag of his cigarette. “Yeah, that sort of thing.” He took another drag. He was nervous, or an irregular smoker. Or both. “As far as I recall, the drop in Night City’s violent crime rate was the cause for this one. Rhyne came out to tout it.”

V blinked. “Sorry – _drop_?”

Jefferson smirked. “Rhyne reclassified Pacifica as an ‘independent district.’ Stats for that part of town stopped counting.”

Of course. Typical political bullshit.

V pondered a moment more. “Know anything about the cop who saved Rhyne?”

Jefferson nodded. “Detective River Ward,” he said. “Good guy. We worked a few cases together. You wanna talk to ‘im, I’ll put you in touch.”

She asked a few more questions, learning that the mayor’s security detail had been hand-picked by his deputy and were funded by a corp’s payroll. They included some ex-cops among them. Seemed a weak tie to the NCPD budget cuts. V tried not to be swayed by the corpo backing. It was no secret that Holt took corp money. V decided it was good to know where the backing money came from, but that was all she could say for now.

She also learned that Rhyne’s security detail and NCPD had access to the security terminal that faulted as Horvath passed through. It seemed too well-timed to be coincidence. She felt instinctively that Horvath had breached the terminal’s security with a quick-hack while passing through. The timing would be difficult to pull off with a remote netrunner or previously-uploaded daemon. Of all the details, of this she felt most certain.

Following up with Detective Ward seemed the next logical step. He’d either had good information or very good luck, and she’d need some of both to solve this. Jefferson flicked his detes to her Agent with a final offer to help if she needed it, and the married pair boarded the AV. V decided she liked the way they looked out for each other. It was rare to find that kind of allyship in Night City.

V turned around where Carter was waiting to drive her back to where she’d left her bike. She relaxed in the back of the luxury car, mulling over the BD for the drive.


	2. The interview

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Detective River Ward meets V.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly going to be Female V/River Ward romance fluff because I felt like the game needed more! The story starts with the quest "I Fought the Law." For the first several chapters, it will follow River's quests pretty closely and incorporate a lot of dialogue from the game (so there will be spoilers for the game if you haven't played), but then I plan to expand into original territory, featuring some of my favorite characters and relationships.
> 
> I'm taking strong liberties with the main plot of the game. Spoilers follow: While V did complete the Arasaka heist, I am omitting Johnny Silverhand's construct and some of the implications for the Relic. V is still out to get Arasaka and has teamed up with Takemura, but aside from that, I'm not sure how much the main plot of the game will come into play.
> 
> The title is an allusion to the tarot cards in the game that represent V and River.

River blinked and looked at the clock on the computer monitor. His shift was over 12 minutes ago. He sighed and rubbed the tiredness from his ‘ganic eye. Might as well close out this last doc, he thought to himself. Won’t take but a minute.

Half an hour later he’d finished the write up, closed the computer, shrugged on his jacket – a knee-length, brown coat made of heavy synthsuede and lined with fur – and left the precinct office. He was late to meet his partner for lunch. Han would’ve left early to pick up his daughter and probably already be at the diner by now. He spotted his Thorton pickup where he’d parked it in the garage, and just as he settled into the seat, ready to start it up, his Agent rang.

He frowned, not recognizing the number.

“This is Ward. Who’m I talkin’ to?”

“Name’s V,” a woman’s voice replied. “Lookin’ into the death of one Lucius Rhyne.”

His frown deepened. The case – which he’d been working – had been closed in spite of too much evidence that screamed foul play. The orders had come from the higher ups. He’d had no recourse. Who would be looking into it now?

“Wonder why,” he mused. “You’re not a cop.”

“Listen,” she said. “I know you tried to warn the mayor about the cyberpsycho.”

He sat up. That was classified evidence. Whoever this V was, she – or whoever she worked for – had pulled strings to get that intel. “What else do you know?” he questioned.

“Mmm, that you’d best meet with me,” the voice coaxed. The accent was pure Night City, feminine, with a slightly hoarse quality. River leaned back in the seat, tapping the back of his head against the headrest, weighing options. He could feel that nagging feeling at the base of his brain. It wouldn’t let him rest until he’d heard more. _Dammit._

“Alright,” he sighed. “Heading to Chubby Buffalo’s. Be there stat.” He hung up the call.

The engine revved to life, and he put the truck in gear. If he hurried, he could talk the situation over with Han before this V showed up. His gut told him the meet was safe, but having Han as backup gave him some advantage.

The diner wasn’t far from the Heywood precinct. It was just off the interstate and overlooked the river with a view into Santo Domingo. It had an old-school vibe, like the diners from the mid-20th-century. Neon lights, plastic booths, waitresses in dresses and aprons. River found a parking spot easily – it was after the lunch rush, so the lot was half-empty – and walked in to greetings from the staff. He was a regular. After a case, or sometimes just after a long shift, he and Han had a ritual of meeting here to talk out the details. Plus, Han’s daughter loved playing on the arcade machines that lined one wall. She was there playing now. He waved to her, but she didn’t look up from the flashing lights and dinging bells.

Han was already sat in a booth. Of course he had eyes on the door, which meant River wouldn’t be able to watch for his visitor. On the drive he’d sussed out that she must be a merc hired by some third party. If she’d been a PI she’d have said as much, or at least hinted. Plus, PIs had their own contacts on the NCPD. He’d never met with a PI who wasn’t vetted by someone on the force.

“Ward. You’re late,” Han said around a mouthful of burger as River slid into the booth.

“Yeah, sorry,” River replied. “Something interesting came up.”

Han swallowed and took a swig of his drink. “Interesting how?”

“Got a call. Someone looking into the Rhyne case. Third party.”

Even though Han was wearing mirrored shades, River knew his partner well enough to know he was on the receiving end of a narrowed stare.

“You back on that?” he said disapprovingly. “Boss already told you to drop it. Don’t make him say it again. You know he hates to say things twice.”

The waitress came over interrupting them. River ordered, and after she left, he continued. “You know well as I do that the case stank. Why the interest in shutting it down so quick?”

Han sighed and sipped his drink. “Who’s this ‘third party’?” he asked finally.

“Dunno,” said River. By that time the waitress had brought his coffee and a bowl of soup. He quickly ate a few mouthfuls. “Reckon it’s a merc. Dunno who hired her. S’posed to meet here, in fact. Should be here any minute.”

“I knew you didn’t give a rat’s fat ass about what the boss says, but I didn’t take you for one to work with mercs. You that desperate to get fired?”

“Calm down. I haven’t decided anything. Just wanna hear what she has to say. See if I hear anything new about Rhyne’s death.”

“You’ve seen all the evidence there was. What’s some merc gonna know that the NCPD doesn’t?”

River shrugged and ate some more. “Could’ve missed something,” he said noncommittally. Han wasn’t going to be of any help, that was clear, and River didn’t want to tip his hand. River wasn’t surprised. Han was a 9-to-5 detective. He punched in, punched out, and took a paycheck home to his family. He wasn’t going to stir the pot.

Not like River. He’d been called a pot-stirrer more than once. He’d get that feeling, like a little wriggling worm in the base of his brain, that wouldn’t let him go until he’d cracked a case. He wouldn’t – couldn’t – let Rhyne’s death lie. Not until he knew the answers.

The two sat in disagreeable, but comfortable, silence. They’d been partners for a while and knew each other’s moods. They mutually recognized when the other wouldn’t be convinced. No point in arguing.

River kept an eye on the window. He fiddled with the blinds so he could see the off-ramp, though his back was turned to the parking lot as well as the door. He shifted irritably. The sounds of motors whizzed by. It was an overcast day. The sun peeked feebly through gray clouds. The street was still slick with rain from earlier in the morning. There hadn’t been enough heat to evaporate the water.

He finished his soup without tasting it, forcing himself not to turn around every time the bell above the entrance rang signaling another patron. Han watched his daughter at the arcades affectionately. River made small talk, asking about Tano’s school and half-listening to Han’s replies.

Han trailed off, and River looked up to see an attractive woman with pink hair braided loosely over one shoulder standing at the edge of the table.

“River?” she asked. It was the voice of the woman from the call. “I’m Liz’s friend, V.”

“In the flesh,” he answered. “This is my partner, Detective Han.”

“Nice to meet you,” V said. “Don’t let me interrupt – I know I’m a little early, but I just wanted to let you know I was here. I’ll be at the counter whenever you’re ready.” She gestured with a thumb over one shoulder toward the counter lined with chrome stools upholstered in red vinyl.

Han raised his eyebrows at River. Even River was second-guessing the merc theory. She was smooth, acting just as if they’d been set up on a coffee date. She looked the part, too, now that he got a better view of her. His detective-brain reflexively scanned for details. She was an attractive woman, maybe late 20s. He was unsure of her ethnicity. She had light brown skin with a smattering of freckles, large, almond-shaped brown eyes, and full lips. V wore a cream-colored cropped sweater made of a fuzzy material that slouched off one shoulder. Light-colored denim jeans hugged curvaceous hips. They were padded at the knee, and she wore motorcycle boots. River recalled hearing a loud bike engine only a few minutes before.

She was unarmed, as far as he could tell.

“Don’t mind me,” Han said. “I’ve gotta go get my little girl anyway.” Turning to River, he said, “You really intend to work with a merc?”

River glanced at V to see if she would drop the act. She didn’t, instead assuming an expression of mild puzzlement.

“Don’t know what I intend just yet,” River answered. Han scowled. “See me doin’ anything? Just sittin’ here, sippin’ coffee, listenin’ to gossip.” River leaned back flippantly. At the last, he nodded his head in V’s direction.

“Fine, do what you want,” said Han shifting his weight out of the booth. He stood. “You two at least find a quieter corner. Wouldn’t wanna be overheard.” Han strode off toward the arcades.

V stepped closer toward the table and raised an eyebrow. River motioned her to sit. “Ok, talk,” he said brusquely.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” she said politely, ignoring his tone. She settled into the booth and leaned forward, resting her forearms on the matte red tabletop. “I see Detective Han isn’t a fan of edgerunners,” V observed in the same light tenor, her gaze following River’s partner as he left the diner.

“Don’t take it personally. Detective Han’s not a fan of anybody. ‘Cept his daughter.”

V made a noncommittal noise. She then twisted around in her seat and waved a hand to grab the attention of a waitress, who gestured back that she’d be there in just a second.

River was annoyed at the nonchalance. He took advantage of V’s distraction to scan her with his optical implant, hoping she’d miss the telltale flash of red light that accompanied the facial recognition search. The NCPD database returned nothing. She had some sort of facial recognition scrambler. He looked her over for identifying marks. No tattoos that he could see, but her arms and legs were covered. No gang patches. No piercings. No fashionware. The right side of her head was shaved, showing silver tracings from her neural port along the skin, which extended across her temporal bone. The implant was both extensive and decorative. It had been installed by someone with some skill. She had more chipware sockets than was typical, and he saw the personal link on her left wrist. No other obvious cyberware, but he’d guess she had a high-end optic implant that could baffle facial recognition scanners. Long accustomed to noting details on perps, he gathered all this info in the few seconds it took for her to motion to the waitress and turn back around.

“You wanted to talk?” he said, not caring if he sounded short.

She shrugged. “Right to business then. Before the attack, you wanted to talk to Rhyne’s huscle, get some info to them.” She waited for River’s affirming nod. “What was it?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Before I tell you, I gotta know. Why do you got your nose in this? Who hired you?”

The right corner of her mouth turned upward in a secretive half-smile. “Believe I already told you.”

The waitress coming to the table gave River time to rack his brain. The waitress caught River’s eye, raised her eyebrows, and smiled knowingly. She’d never seen him meet a woman here before. He shook off the distraction. What had V said at the outset? _I’m Liz’s friend, V._ Who was Liz? Who would have hired a merc to investigate the Rhyne case? V made some polite small talk before ordering a small coffee, black. The waitress walked back behind the counter. River’s mind filtered through the possibilities before the lightbulb turned on.

“Elizabeth Peralez,” he said. V’s smile broadened, and River’s irritation grew. _She_ was testing _him_? He wasn’t sure what irked him more, the gall of a random merc to test _his_ deductive skills, or the flash of pride he’d felt at the approval of an attractive woman. It had been the _briefest_ flash, but it was there.

“And her husband, Jefferson,” V confirmed.

“The presumed future mayor?” he laughed. “Guess I could’ve seen that comin’.” It should’ve occurred to him sooner, but they didn’t seem like the type to contract edgerunners. He glanced around the diner. By that time the waitress was bringing V her coffee. After she left, River said, “Know what…Han was right. Acoustics are a little too good in here.” He offered by way of suggestion, “Got my car outside.”

“Give a girl a chance to finish her coffee first,” V said, taking a sip. “Wouldn’t want the diner staff to think I’m easy.”

River scowled and leaned back in the booth, lifting one arm to rest across the back of the seat. “So why the whole act, then? You know,” he gestured at her with his other hand. “This whole…thing.”

V shrugged and set down the cup. “Figured I’d be discreet. You had the location ready to go, even though I called you. Guessed it might be a regular spot for you.”

“And if gossip got back to my wife at home that I was meeting up with strange women?”

V smiled. “Far as I can tell, there’s two types of detectives. The get-married-young-and-pop-out-a-bunch-of-kids kind – like your friend Han – and the married-to-their-job kind. Based on your obvious obsession with the Rhyne case, _aaand_ the fact that that Thorton pickup you’ve got parked outside doesn’t exactly scream ‘family vehicle’, I’m guessin’ there is no Mrs. Ward back at home.” She took another sip of coffee and looked at him levelly.

Now River _really_ didn’t like her.

She’d given him some info, though. The two-types-of-detectives bit was pretty accurate. Maybe she’d worked with cops in the past, or maybe she was just streetwise enough to know. IDing his car, though, meant she had access to an NCPD scanner. It meant his theory about a top-of-the-line optic implant was gaining ground. Maybe she wasn’t a merc.

“You a netrunner?” he asked, partly as an attempt to regain some lost footing.

“Eh,” she shrugged. “Not in the typical sense.” She drained her coffee, stood up, and tossed a 10€$ note on the table. It was a generous tip. “Let’s go talk.”

He followed her out of the diner. Instead of walking toward his pickup, she headed for an Arch motorcycle parked nearby and took something out of a storage compartment before setting the anti-theft alarm. The parcel was a small canvas duffel in olive green.

“Just in case,” she said, patting the bag. He unlocked his truck, and she slung the duffel into the passenger side, settling it at her feet.

River got in, started the engine, and reversed out of the parking space. He pulled out of the parking lot and onto the interstate. “Some of the boys from the precinct saw Horvath around Arroyo, shooting up dumpsters, hollering how he’s got a meet with the mayor. Brought ‘im in.”

V said, “Horvath. The cyberpsycho who attacked the mayor.”

“Mhm. They took him downtown, but then he got ‘lost’ before they could get his statement.”

“He got ‘lost’?” she probed. “How’s that happen? What’s it mean?”

“It means,” River replied grimly, “someone didn’t want him counting roaches in a cell that day.” He turned right. “And before you ask…no, I got no idea who.”

V fell quiet and turned to gaze out the window.

“So you saw him as a potential threat, decided to warn the mayor?” V asked, after a time. “Just like that, ‘cause…you got a good heart?”

River flinched. The question touched a nerve.

The gray buildings streaking by grew taller as they drove toward the city’s heart. 

“Make it sound like that’s something to be ashamed of,” he whispered.

“Ashamed – nah. Just not something you see every day.” Something reassuring in her tone – a sense of understanding, maybe –made River’s guard drop a fraction.

They continued in silence for a few more blocks.

Then River said, “My turn. Why’s Peralez looking at this _now_? Why’s he want it done unofficial, on the hush-hush?”

“I’ve got a couple of theories. Peralez could just be scared.”

“What, doesn’t want the job of a guy who just got carried out feet first?”

V chuckled. “Who would?” She continued, “But honestly, my guess is he’s tryin’ to smear Holt.”

“So he thinks Holt’s involved?” It had been one of River’s working theories, but he hadn’t known Peralez also felt that way. By the time of Rhyne’s murder, Peralez had already taken a city council seat. No longer DA, he hadn’t been officially involved in the investigation.

V shrugged. “Dunno. But even if he’s not, a murdered mayor isn’t great optics for his deputy. If he can plausibly connect Holt to the murder, even if it’s just rumor—”

“It gets him a boost in the polls,” River finished. “Yeah, makes sense. It also explains why Elizabeth contacted you, instead of just Jefferson. She’s his campaign manager.”

“They’re quite the couple,” V remarked before falling into thoughtful silence, watching cars and buildings pass by out the passenger window.

After a bit, she asked, “Red Queen’s Race – heard anything about it? Know what it is?”

River resisted the urge to pull the car over. He forced casualness in his voice. “Maybe I have, maybe I do,” he answered. “It got anything to do with Rhyne?”

“The guy was headed there the day he died.”

“And…you know this how?”

V sighed. “The Peralezes let me see the BD that the mayor’s huscle recorded of the attack. I’ve…got some skills in that area. It’s why they hired me. In the audio feed, Rhyne and Holt have a conversation. Rhyne asks Holt if his room at the Red Queen’s Race is ready for after the conference. Then Holt leaves.”

At that River did pull the car over. The reports all indicated that Rhyne had gone straight home after the conference, which was where his body had been found. It was a break. Maybe the break he’d been looking for.

He twisted to look at V. “How’d the NCPD miss something like that?”

“Got no idea. Wasn’t particularly hidden.”

He gripped the steering wheel. “Look, I know I’m a cop, and your kind and my kind aren’t exactly known for getting along…but can I ask you straight up? Do you think the NCPD covered something up here?”

She assessed him, pausing before she replied. “I wanna know where the money is coming from. I saw the report on Horvath. Guy was decked in enough chrome to take down that whole security detail. Where’s he get the eddies for that? And, if he could afford all that, he should have the scratch for psychomuting meds, too.”

River nodded. He didn’t expect a fully honest response, but it was a good question. ‘Follow the money’ was a truism in detective work for a reason.

He drummed a beat on the steering wheel with his fingertips. “Red Queen’s Race…” he mused. “All I know of it is it’s some fancy-ass club. No idea where to even look for it, but I’ve got a CI might know.” He put the truck in drive and pulled back onto the road, signaling to take the next left. “We’re gonna go talk to him—”

“Oh, it’s ‘we’ now, is it?” V interrupted.

River hadn’t consciously made the decision to work with this merc – if that’s what she was – but his gut felt it was the right one. His foul mood was lifting, and he felt the addictive hum of energy that accompanied new intel about a case.

He nodded. “Yep, you and me. I get evidence to get my bosses to reopen the case. You get intel to bring back to your client. It’s a win-win. We go talk to my CI, ask him about the club. Or we go talk to Horvath’s boss and look into the money. Your choice which we do first.”

V looked down at her lap and weighed her options, but River couldn’t tell if she was deciding on whether to work with him or which of the two leads to follow first. Then, she leaned back in the seat, and jaw up, she looked at him sidelong. “Money first, then we’ll see about the club.”


	3. Two leads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> River and V follow up on some clues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly going to be Female V/River Ward romance fluff because I felt like the game needed more! The story starts with the quest "I Fought the Law." For the first several chapters, it will follow River's quests pretty closely and incorporate a lot of dialogue from the game (so there will be spoilers for the game if you haven't played), but then I plan to expand into original territory, featuring some of my favorite characters and relationships.
> 
> I'm taking strong liberties with the main plot of the game. Spoilers follow: While V did complete the Arasaka heist, I am omitting Johnny Silverhand's construct and some of the implications for the Relic. V is still out to get Arasaka and has teamed up with Takemura, but aside from that, I'm not sure how much the main plot of the game will come into play.
> 
> The title is an allusion to the tarot cards in the game that represent V and River.

V wasn’t at all certain about working with a cop. River Ward clearly wasn’t thrilled about working with _her_ , but like a dog with a bone, he would not let this case go. It helped that he confirmed some of her suspicions as valid. She was following the leads as she could, but detective work was far from her area of expertise.

Horvath’s sole employer was one Christine Markov who had a shop in one of Japantown’s open markets just across from Jig-Jig Street. River pulled the truck off the street and parked it under one of the pedestrian staircases that led to the market’s upper levels. V rolled her eyes. Any civilian that parked their vehicle there would be impounded within minutes, she knew. Cop privilege.

Japantown was a warren of multi-leveled streets, with market stalls tucked wherever they would fit. You could walk up the stairs and across bridges, or you could take elevators for a more direct route. Markov’s stall was supposedly on the street level, but they had to figure out where.

“A good 90% of any detective’s job is talking,” River observed as he killed the engine.

“And the other 10%, what’s it consist of?” V asked. They both stepped out of the truck and slammed the doors. A quiet digital bleep indicated the anti-theft alarm activating.

As he rounded the back of the truck, he finished, “Writing reports.”

“Okay,” he continued, all business once again. “File has Christine Markov, forty-two, as Horvath’s sole employer. Sole contact, too, actually.”

They walked toward the market. Vendors had set up booths in varying states of transience anywhere they would fit. There were narrow corridors where shoppers could walk through and peruse. Most of the booths were take-out joints for food, but there would be cheap junk vendors, antiques dealers, tchotchke sellers, clothing shops, anything you could name on offer in a market like this. Red lampions decorated with Japanese characters were strung between the stalls giving the whole market a whimsical feeling.

Smelling the aroma of food, V’s stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten yet today.

“Got no idea who we’re looking for,” River noted. “Gonna have to ask around. I’ll start from the left, you take the right.”

V nodded and started down a row of stalls. She took her time, noting which vendors seemed agitated or rushed, and which seemed chatty, figuring the talkative ones would not only be more likely to tell her who Markov was but would be more likely to know in the first place.

After a few minutes of no luck, she came across a booth selling jewelry trinkets and accessories. It was operated by a round-faced young woman who eagerly watched each passerby. V approached.

“’Scuse me, but I’m looking for Christine Markov. D’you happen to know her? She has a stall around here.”

The vendor directed her farther down the market, nearly to where it butted up against the edge of one of the apartments buildings and told her to take a left. Markov sold electronic parts and would be about halfway down.

V quickly found the place. She pinged the detective. While she waited for him to show up, V decided to avail herself of the offerings of a small Japanese woman steaming _dango_ nearby. After paying, she gingerly took hold of one end of the skewer – the dumplings were coated in some sort of sticky paste that was both sweet and salty. She leaned forward against the counter and ate.

“ _Daaaamn_ , girl,” exclaimed a voice from behind her. A blue-haired gonk in a neon yellow puffy vest and tank top oozed around one side and leaned against the counter, eyeing her exaggeratedly over the top of his infovisor. V’s scanner read the ‘visor as broken. He probably used it to convince unsuspecting women he was a netrunner.

“All those curves, and me with no brakes,” he continued. Unwisely.

“Not interested, _choomba,_ ” she growled, twisting the last word with especial venom. She straightened from the counter.

“How do you know? Haven’t even talked to me, yet,” the gonk insisted.

V moved to step away, and the gonk grabbed her by the arm. “Come on, baby. Let’s get to know each other a li’l.”

V was clenching her other fist when from behind her Detective Ward’s voice asked, “V, you alright?”

River Ward was a big guy. Tall and broad-shouldered, he loomed at V’s back, casting a shadow across the other guy’s face. The gonk dropped her arm and raised his hands in a sign of defeat. “Hey, man, this your output?” the gonk asked River. Before he could answer, the gonk turned to V. “You with him?”

V gritted her teeth. “ _Technically_.”

“My mistake, my mistake. No offense intended.” The gonk scurried off like a cockroach.

V turned to look up at River. “Why is it that a woman can say no a dozen times and the gonk hittin’ on her doesn’t bat an eye, but the first guy to roll up and piss on his territory sends him skittering away?”

She sighed. “Don’t answer that. Whatever you say’ll just piss me off.”

“Wasn’t gonna,” shrugged River. V could tell he was amused, though he wisely didn’t say anything else. “You found Moyer?”

“Junk shop just over there,” V jerked her chin in the direction of Moyer’s stall.

“Let’s go.”

Christine Markov was a middle-aged white woman whose skin was tanned and wrinkled with sun exposure. Based on the eclectic offerings of her stall, she spent a lot of time searching through junkyards for spare parts to salvage. V eyed River, whose skeptical expression showed he was thinking the same thing. Unless they were missing something, there was no money here. River leaned casually against one side of the service counter.

“You Christine Markov?” V called, getting the woman’s attention from the radio she was tinkering with. She nodded. “We have some questions.”

“You badges?” she asked wearily. She’d been questioned before, likely multiple times.

V hesitated. “We’re…uh…lookin’ for data on Peter Horvath,” she said, avoiding answering the question directly. She wasn’t sure if River was here on an official capacity, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be formally associated with a cop. “Used to work here, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, he did,” Christine replied, turning back to the radio. “Then he stopped workin’, started makin’ fuckin’ speeches all the time.” She twisted her techtool and something popped loose. She slammed it down and swore under her breath.

V persisted. “Horvath make good scratch here? Coulda bought this whole market with the chrome he was packin.’”

Christine laughed sarcastically. “Oh yeah, made scads on scads here. Motherfuckin’ millionaire, like we all are.”

“So where’d he get the eddies?” asked River. “Know anything?”

“Look, if I knew, I wouldn’t be here sellin’ scop to tower trash.” She gestured with the tech tool. "I’d get myself an AV, fly my fuckin’ slim ass outta here.” She turned back to the radio. Over her shoulder, she said, “Peter showed up one day with all that. Extra worked up, too. Whacked enough that I asked him where he got it. He said somebody’d finally seen what he was worth. And then he launched right into one of his tirades.”

“We’ve heard he was, uh, _eccentric,_ ” V said. “When’d the weird behavior actually start?”

“Look, when you’re talkin’ about Peter, ‘weird’ doesn’t mean what it means for everybody else. Horvath never was completely normal. But the post-jail Horvath versus the pre-jail Horvath? Gonks both, but completely different gonks.” River exchanged a glance with V.

“And these speeches you were talkin’ about? What did he have to say?”

“’Rhyne – corps got him by the balls and cock, but he still managed to fuck me.’ His motto.”

“Why’d he have it in for the mayor?”

She chuckled. “Lookin’ for reason in that whackjob? Prolly thought Rhyne was talkin’ to him through the TV, promisin’ all sorts of shit, then ceasin’ to give a fuck.”

She gave up on the radio, shoving it under the counter and then sliding an ancient coffee pot onto her workbench. “Look,” she said, and V could tell Christine was at the end of her patience with them. “I told you what I think. In Horvath’s world, everybody was out to get him. Lucius Rhyne was out to fuck him, then get him.”

“There had to be some other connection between them. Think of anything?” V pressed.

“Easy money,” Christine shrugged. “That’s what Horvath was after. Didn’t do time for nothin’. Worked for normal, not so normal. Gah, maybe he and Rhyne had some mutual friends? That’s all I got.” She let her techtool fall to the counter with a thud. “Would that be all, _detectives?_ You’re spookin’ my clientele.”

V leaned forward. Surely there was more Christine knew, but River laid a hand on her shoulder and steered her back into the crowd.

“’Sombody’d finally seen what he was worth,’’ said River. “Horvath had sponsors.”

“Might’ve expected as much,” countered V as the two of them moved back in the direction of River’s pickup.

“Might’ve seen like we didn’t get a lot outta that,” River remarked. “But sometimes intel makes sense once you got some context.” They worked their way through the crowd. “Say, for instance, somebody says they got a headache,” he mused. “Minor detail, means nothing, right? Usually, sure. But then the guy waltzes straight into oncoming traffic. The neighbor remembers someone had worked on the air conditioner in the guy’s unit, guy whose head always hurt. Accident? Coincidence? Or maybe air-dispersed poison. A deliberate hit.”

“You actually caught a case like that?” V inquired, curious.

“No,” he replied dismissively. “Made it up. Still proves my point.”

River’s pickup came into view. Poking at it were two Tyger Claws. They were in the heart of Tyger Claw territory, the gang that controlled Japantown, Little China, Kabuki, and a decent chunk of Charter Hill. While V did regular solo gigs for Wakako Okada, Japantown’s preeminent fixer and a Tyger Claw matriarch, she’d had more than a few run-ins with the Claws.

One of the Claws was speaking Japanese. As they came in range, her neural chip translated as text projected across her vision.

 _“Wrong. Fuckin’ ugly pig wagon,”_ the Tyger Claw said. “ _Somebody should clean it, huh?”_

“Oh, great,” River muttered. “Lemme handle this, V.” They approached the car. V maintained a respectable distance, but her body tensed to spring into action. She’d left her go-bag beneath the front seat. Hopefully the gangoons hadn’t noticed yet.

The Claws had noticed them.

 _“What’s up, piglet?_ ” said the right-hand ganger. “Got yourself a new output?” He leered at V.

“Step aside, Lugg,” River said. “Your boyfriend got sent up for years. Doubt you want the same.”

“ _Oh, no, no.”_ the ganger jeered. “ _Your new output’s gonna see what happens to piglets that don’t get it._ _You refused to deal. You still owe us._ ”

“Right. You did lose your only associate who could string two sentences together. Too bad he also liked diddling little kids. Here’s my offer – get the fuck outta here, and I won’t arrest you as accessories in the murder of Mayor Rhyne.”

River had correctly gauged that the Claws were just there to provoke him. The ganger gestured obscenely.

“We’ll let it go this time, Ward. But this time’s the last time.”

“And wash your fucking wheels, pig,” the other ganger spat as they strode off.

River sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, leaning against a guard rail.

“Walkin’ the streets with you – downright unsafe,” V observed. “Got a beef with all gangs or just the Tygers?”

“I’m a cop. Whaddaya think?” He sighed. “Good thing nobody got killed. Little less paperwork.”

He stood up and moved toward the truck. “You still on board to talk to my CI?”

“Sure, I’ll ride with you.”

* * *

V spent most of the ride fantasizing about pummeling the Tyger Claws, or having a big enough rep that she could call Wakako and get them blacklisted, or, best of all, having a big enough rep that they’d scatter at her approach.

She felt that, institutionally, the NCPD deserved the hate they got from Night City’s residents. In practice, they were just another gang backed by corps, staking out their turf. Just like gangers, there were good cops who looked out for people and bad ones who took advantage, and there were usually more bad ones than good. The difference was that while gangs would occasionally form alliances, work together, and hold neutral territory, everybody hated cops. Must be hard to walk around a city knowing everyone hates your guts. It was why toxic cops stayed in the NCPD. It was their family, where they were accepted. It was how good cops became toxic. They did whatever they had to to fit in.

However, she thought, those Tyger Claws had known River by name. Known his ride. There was a personal vendetta there, more than he was letting on, that went beyond run-of-the-mill cop-hate. She drummed her fingertips against her upper arm.

River must’ve noticed her restlessness. “Not much further,” he said. V looked out the window, paying attention for the first time on the ride. They looked to be somewhere in Vista del Rey, but V couldn’t place the neighborhood. Stupid to let her mind wander like that. Could end up anywhere.

After another couple of blocks, River pulled his truck in front of a sex shop called Maximum Pleasure. Barely-clothed mannequins featured the array of implements sold inside.

“My guy works here,” he gestured. “Eh, you go talk to him. I’ll wait outside. Just tell him Igor says hi. He’ll know what it’s about.”

“He’s your CI,” V objected. “Doesn’t know me.”

River rubbed his cyberware hand on the back of his neck. “Well, uhh…last we met, it didn’t go so well. For him. People he ratted out got wind of it. I think you got a better chance of gettin’ him to talk without me. At least, voluntarily.”

“Mind tellin’ me a little about him? Who is this guy?”

“The proud proprietor. He’s got all sorts of clients, and he’s nosy as hell. So he knows all about everyone. Plus, he’s a coward. Perfect combo.”

“Sure, sure,” V muttered, opening the car door. “All right, wait here then.”

She hopped the sidewalk and crossed the purple zebra print rug that ushered patrons to the double doors of the shop. It was a sizeable establishment, clearly doing well for itself. The neon sign above the door indicated it was open. Other neon lights shaped like condoms decorated the marquee.

V walked inside. She spotted the CI quickly. He was on his Agent behind the counter. There were only a few other customers inside, carefully keeping to themselves, as was protocol in a sex shop. One gonk, a skinny kid probably only sixteen or seventeen, quickly pretended not to be browsing the shelf of Mr. Studd implants. Poor bastard.

Spotting her, the owner hung up his phone. V approached the counter. The CI was a chubby white man with a very unfortunate haircut. He had long brown bangs swept to one side of his face, while the rest of his head was shaved. It might have looked edgy on a streetkid, but looked ridiculous over his middle-aged paunch.

“You lookin’ for, uh, general inspiration,” he said, waving his arms suggestively, “or somethin’ specific? ‘Cause I can help with both.” He winked. V rolled her eyes.

“Lookin’ for a club, actually. Red Queen’s Race?”

His eyes narrowed.

“If I was you, I’d try somewhere a little more….welcoming.” He eyed her cream sweater and jeans. To be fair, V’s look didn’t exactly broadcast ‘sexual deviant.’ “Lizzie’s over in Kabuki is a good start. Or Clouds in Japantown.”

She leaned on the counter. “Want an address,” she insisted.

“Look, club’s invitation-only, right? You don’t know the address, means you’re not welcome.”

V sighed. This was going nowhere. “Igor says hi.”

His entire countenance changed. He recoiled, eyes wide. “Fuck, no!” he exclaimed. “Said I was done. I was out!”

He stumbled three steps backward, then fled out a rear entrance.

V vaulted over the counter, shouldering the door open. The exit led to the alleyway behind the building. The CI was fleeing around shipping containers. She chased him, only to pull up to a sudden stop. River was at the entrance of the alley with his gun on the guy. V almost felt sorry for the weasel.

“Fuuuuuck,” the CI said, throwing his hands up.

“Heeeey, Neil,” said River in mock-surprise.

“Piss off,” shrieked Neil, and he tried to bolt. River body-blocked him and shoved him against the graffitied concrete wall of the alley. V quietly moved to the street side of the confrontation, partly to block the view from any onlookers and partly to help prevent another escape attempt.

“Relax,” said River, pointing his gun. “Just got one question to ask you.”

“Lemme alone, got it?” Neil whined. “Can’t make me do a damn thing. Remember the last time? I said I was out. No way I’m talkin’ to you.” He turned to V. “Make him see reason, all right? He’s got nothin’ on me.”

V moved closer, pushing up her right sleeve. She leaned close to Neil, placing her palm against the rough surface of the wall. It was cool to the touch.

“I find it interesting,” she purred, “that of the two of us, you peg me as the reasonable one. While it’s true that Detective Ward is bound by the responsibilities of his office, I–“ she unsheathed the mantis blade. It was level with Neil’s eye. She tapped three times against the wall with the razor-sharp blade tip for emphasis. “I am… _unaffiliated_.”

The high-pitched sob that fled his diaphragm was deeply satisfying. V smirked, and glanced at River, whose eyes were wide. Just who the fuck _are_ you? they wondered.

“All right,” Neil gulped. “All right. It’s outside city limits, near the river. Bonita Street area.”

“You been there?” asked River, regaining focus.

“Made some deliveries – goods, sometimes peeps. But got no idea why you wanna go pokin’ around there. Club’s empty. They shut it all down.”

“Shut it down? Before or after Mayor Rhyne died?” River interrogated.

“Uhhh…” Neil thought about the question. “Soon after, I guess.”

River asked a few more questions to verify they had the correct location before holstering his gun. V stood up, allowing the blade to retreat back under her skin, and rolled down her sleeve.

“Thanks, Neil,” River said, as V backed off. The CI half-walked, half-scurried back down the alley.

River looked at her. It was the closest he’d come to smiling all day. “Well, well,” he said. “That’s what I call a breakthrough. I’m headed straight for Bonita Street. Comin’ with?”

“’Course,” said V.

* * *

Once back in the truck, V was able to reason with River that it made most sense to scout out the place after dark. They pulled over at a gas station to take a break and grab some food.

“I gotta ask,” River said around a mouthful of protein bar as they sat, legs dangling, in the bed of the truck parked at the gas station. “What line of work are you in, exactly?”

“You weren’t far off with the netrunning guess,” V replied after swallowing a disappointing mouthful of cold burrito. She scowled at it. Should’ve known better than to get gas station burritos. She took another bite. “I was always pretty good with hacking, but not great. I learned that what I was really good at was onsite hacking. Most ‘runners prefer to stay jacked into a chair. I work local. Get in, quickhack a system, upload a few daemons, get out. Nobody’s the wiser.”

“A crystaljock, then.”

“Hopefully not that old-fashioned, but pretty much.”

River finished off the protein bar and swigged a Nicola. “Before we head into the belly of the beast, you got any other implants I should know about?”

“Hmmm, that you should know about,” V said suggestively, chuckling. “Um, got reinforced ankles. I’m guessing you’ve clocked my eye. It’s a Kiroshi. Neural and personal links, obviously. Subdermal armor. It’s mid-tier. Won’t stop a point-blank shot or turn a knife, but should protect my vitals from a stray bullet. How about you?”

River gestured to his cyberoptic implant with his cybernetic hand. “Got both of these in the line of duty. Standard NCPD replacement parts. Nothin’ fancy. Insurance doesn’t even spring for synth skin.”

V had guessed as much. He had some scarring around his left eye that indicated a bullet wound or maybe shrapnel. She doubted he was a veteran. For one thing, he might not be old enough. She gauged his age as mid-thirties, but she wasn’t sure. He was a good looking man, with the kind of bone structure that meant he would age well. He could be in his forties, for all she knew. Veterans got similar replacements, but often they were from the military reclaiming expensive combat implants and replacing them with cheaper, outdated, utilitarian parts when a veteran’s term of service was up. Then they could jack the fancy implants into a fresh recruit.

“How much you charge for a gig like this? If you don’t mind my askin’.”

“Why do you wanna know?”

“Professional curiosity,” he replied. “Got a lotta chrome. All this talk of Horvath having a sponsor…got me thinkin’ on it, is all.”

He was letting his guard down. No way a cop would ask a merc that kind of question under ordinary circumstances, and V was certain he knew better. A merc’s rates were something you learned through word of mouth. You didn’t ask direct. It was a sort of street courtesy. Most of V’s work came through fixers, and they all knew what tier of job she would take. Different calibers of merc would take different gigs. Most took whatever came their way, but in recent months, V had the opportunity to be more selective thanks to her rep as an up-and-comer. Even the rare jobs like this one that came from an independent party, the client knew in advance the ballpark of what she’d ask.

“First of all, this gig isn’t exactly typical for me. And second of all, I got this chrome through saving every eddy I made, plus a little luck thrown in. Well, a lotta luck, actually.”

He nodded. “You gonna tell me, or not?”

She told him.

He whistled under his breath.

“Plus expenses,” she added.

“Explains why you paid for my food. I’m thinkin’ I just may be in the wrong game.”

“Pretty sure you knew that already, and pretty sure you don’t care.”

He grinned. He’d loosened up some as the day went on, seemed almost relaxed now. V chalked it up to making such good progress on his case. They were close now, and he could taste it.

The sun had set, and Night City lit up. The high rise windows glowed, neon signs stretched across buildings, and projected advertisements stretched vertically upward, filling the empty airspace between buildings.

V finished half of her burrito and chucked the other half. She chugged her Real Water. Then they both climbed back into the truck and sped off into the night.


	4. The Red Queen's Race

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After locating the underground club where Mayor Rhyne was headed on the day of his death, River and V find some unwelcome intel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: This chapter contains gun violence, physical confrontations, and blood, but descriptions are non-graphic (T/PG-13 territory).
> 
> Lore note: I've incorporated a few things from the Cyberpunk Red TTRPG into this version of the Cyberpunk world, which differs from the game. An Agent is a smartphone. Cyberdecks can be hardwired into a person's body (as would be the case for a professional netrunner), or they can be external pieces of hardware.

“Look that way for a sec, wouldya?”

River obliged, turning his head to look out the driver’s side window. His truck was parked on the curb beneath a streetlight in a seemingly abandoned intersection on Bonita Street. A short way down the street running perpendicular there was a guard gate and boom barrier, and beyond was what looked like a garage. There were a few security lights on, and he could occasionally see flickering shadows cast by indiscernible figures.

He felt a puff of something soft land near his right wrist, which rested on the bench seat next to him. Involuntarily, he looked to see what it was.

“Quit peeking!” protested V as she finished pulling a white tank top over her head.

“What’re you doing?”

“That is my favorite sweater. I’m not about to risk it getting covered in blood…or worse, engine grease.”

“Engine grease is _worse_ than blood?”

She scoffed. “Do you _do_ laundry? Blood washes out. Get grease on those fibers, sweater’s ruined.”

“Pay an old lady on my floor to do my laundry, actually,” River replied.

“Figures,” mumbled V as she rummaged through the duffel bag at her feet. She sat up and squirmed into a holster harness, and then, drawing a pistol from the bag – it looked to be a standard M-10AF Lexington, nothing special – she screwed on a silencer and sheathed it under her left arm. Under the right arm, she slid extra clips of ammo.

“You use non-lethal rounds?”

“Mhm, for this type of gig. That okay?”

“Sure, sure. Just wasn’t expecting it, s’all.” A merc with a conscience? Surprising.

V slotted what looked like several memory shards into a compartment in the harness, followed by a couple of airhypos. Over this, she pulled on a black moto jacket. She clipped a belt around her waist containing several pieces of tech. River guessed it was her cyberdeck, among other tools. Unlike a true deckhead, who would have a cyberdeck hardwired into their body, hers would be an external tool. She did some testing of her equipment, and once satisfied that everything was in working order, V straightened and looked at him. She asked a tacit question. _Are you ready?_ He nodded.

“This is Animal turf,” V observed, opening the car door.

“Yep, I can see that,” he replied, following suit. As far as Night City’s gangs went, the Animals were particularly nasty. In terms of sheer brutality, Maelstrom were probably the worst, but the Animals weren’t far behind. Their inductees liked to get up close and physical. Most had strength-enhancing cyberware.

River and V positioned themselves under the streetlamp, trying to get a better look at the gang hideout.

“Lock up any of theirs recently?” There was a pointed edge to her voice. He recalled the earlier encounter with the Tyger Claws in the Japantown market.

River shook his head. “Not lately, no. But they’re not big fans of ‘pigs’, either.”

“Don’t have any friends among them, myself,” said V. “Guess we’re goin’ in the unfriendly route. What do you suggest?”

“I can’t go in without a warrant,” he said, desperately hoping V wouldn’t back out now. Not when they were so close.

V paced back and forth, thinking. She scoped the complex, and River saw the blue light from her left iris that indicated she was running a scan. Her frown showed they were out of range.

“You can’t get _caught_ without a warrant,” she corrected, looking at him. When River didn’t object, V continued. “All right. I slip in. Knock out their cams. With any luck the whole place will be on one circuit – garage and wherever the club’s hidden. Bet there’s a terminal in the guard gate.”

“Yeeeaaah,” River hesitantly agreed. “That wouldn’t overwrite any of their recorded security footage?”

She shook her head. “Nope, gotta daemon that’ll spike the cameras directly, but we should still be able to pull footage no problem. Whaddaya reckon their security looks like up top? I’m guessing one, maybe two, in the guard building itself.”

“Eh, really depends on if they’re covering something up. Probably one or two on the perimeter. Another couple inside? Who knows what it looks like inside the club. Betting it’s underground.”

“We’ll have to poke around a bit to find the entrance. Ugh, I wish we had ‘prints of the place!” She sighed, crossing her arms. “Oh well, live on the edge, am I right?”

“You’re the edgerunner here, not me. Prefer my non-armored skin intact.”

V gave him a dirty look.

“Any rate,” she continued. “If we gotta be pokin’ around, best to take out all their up-top security. This would be a shit job, for entry-level marks. Doubt they’re too well-armed. I’ll try to get a count on the cams ‘fore I knock them out. Then you should be clear to waltz up through the main entrance. We can worry about finding the club from there.”

“I’ll put on my dancin’ shoes, then.”

It was a bad joke, but it got a snicker from V.

She proceeded to set up a secure voice connection so they could communicate remotely.

“All right, the line’ll stay open, so try not to talk too much. Or breathe too loud,” she said. “It’s distracting.”

“Do my best.”

“See you on the other side, then.”

She unholstered her pistol and, crouching, began to move toward the Animals’ hideout, creeping around to the left of the guard gate where shadows were thickest.

River settled himself onto a concrete traffic barrier under the streetlamp to wait. He was overly conscious of how loud his breathing was. He didn’t think he was a particularly loud breather. Maybe V was just sensitive.

Several long minutes passed before V checked in. “Lucky day,” she whispered. “Found a side entrance.”

“Animals must be getting careless,” he replied.

He heard the faint whirring of a techtool, followed by metallic scraping.

“All right, quiet now. Goin’ in.”

Silence. Then, the distinctive whizz of a bullet fired through a silencer. River bit his tongue, resisting the urge to ask how things were going.

More silence.

River was aware of his heart racing, an antsy feeling in his feet. They were so close. Too close to blow it now. His superiors would _have_ to reopen the case. They’d have no choice. He stamped down the niggling thought that they wouldn’t be able to actually submit any evidence found without a warrant. He convinced himself that it would at least persuade them to open the case files, look for more. The proof was out there, he could feel it.

“Jacked in,” V whispered, “but bad news. The club cams must be on a different circuit. I can only see the garage. Gotta be another terminal somewhere.”

“What’s the count?”

“I got one guy circling the perimeter, and two more inside that I can see. There’s shipping crates and a lot of junk. Guards look bored. Probably not anticipating trouble. Lemme get the guy on the perimeter, and then you come in.”

“Sure,” said River. He stood, unholstering his pistol and double-checking the ammo. It was an ace piece of hardware. Could fire like a regular pistol or charge to full auto, with a mod to decrease recoil. It had been with him a long time, since his first year on the force. He never went anywhere without it.

He listened over the comms for a second shot, but it never came. On the verge of asking for an update, V intercepted his thoughts. “Okay, he’s down. There’s a stack of crates in front of the garage bay doors. Keep low and meet me there.”

River moved silently down the side street toward the guard building. He noted the camera at the gate was now pointing toward the ground, lights off. He was able to see the garage more clearly, and a second camera on the side of the building was in a similar shutoff position.

The concrete yard between guard building and garage was filled with haphazardly parked vehicles and shipping crates. There were a couple big delivery trucks, as well as more ordinary cars in varying states of disrepair. Fortunately for them, there was plenty of opportunity to sneakily work their way toward the building without being spotted.

V crouched in front of one of the delivery trucks. She motioned him over. To her right, he saw the unconscious body of a ganger.

He signed for her to move left while he moved right, past the downed guard. As he stepped over the guy, the acrid stench of ozone hitting his nostrils told him V’d fried his cyberware with a daemon, rather than neutralizing him physically. Poor gonk was still twitching. It would be a slow recovery.

The side of the garage had several bay doors which were half-open, with enough space for someone to duck underneath them. A low radio played somewhere inside, and he could hear muffled voices. They crept through the doors, V breaking left.

It looked like a functioning garage. In all likelihood it was a front. Several junk cars were hoisted on repair frames, with crates of parts and tools stacked nearby. No doubt the crates contained other illegal goods that the Animals were moving, as well. Probably whatever the trucks had delivered, or were waiting to pick up.

Along the right-hand wall of the garage was a set of stairs leading to a catwalk made of steel grate panels that overlooked the main floor. There was a room – maybe an office – with tinted windows on the second story. Below it was a neon-illuminated service counter littered with trash and empty beer bottles. One ganger stood behind the counter, and the other was on the floor near the base of the stairs, fiddling with the radio. They were arguing over which station to play.

He signaled V. She fiddled with something at her belt, and the radio popped and started cycling through stations wildly. River took advantage of the distraction to slip past the counter and grapple the Animal from behind, while V fired two shots from cover at his buddy.

“Up top!” V yelled, as River struggled with the ganger. The ganger was unnaturally strong, but River had the advantage of height, leverage, and training. He wrestled him around, using him as a shield against a third unseen punk who began firing from up on the catwalk. He felt the ganger’s body go limp, so he dropped it and vaulted back over the bar, ducking behind for cover. Shots whistled over his head. One caught the radio, which exploded in a hail of sparks.

He returned fire, but the gonk had him pinned. V was already moving up the stairs to catch him from the side. River emptied his clip, just trying to keep the guy distracted. He was switching out a new clip when he heard an electrical zap followed by a pained grunt.

“He’s down,” called V. She was at the top of the stairs, still on the other side of the office from the gonk. “Short-circuited his cyberware. Think that’s the last of them. I’ll check out this room.”

“I’ll look around for the entrance,” River replied, standing up. There were a number of rooms around the perimeter of the garage, which be began to check systematically. He was looking for a set of stairs or maybe an elevator, following his hunch that the club would be underground.

“No luck up here,” V’s voice came over their comm line. “Terminal’s on the same network as the guard station. Not connected to the club.”

“All right,” replied River. “Make sure none of our friends here are gonna suddenly come to. I’ll keep looking for the entrance.”

The “entrance” turned out to be a shipping container that had been secured over a staircase leading a short way down toward an elevator. “Look at that…” River muttered as he unlatched the heavy metal bolts and swung the doors open with a clang. The underground entry was bordered with red lighting on theme with the club’s name.

He waved V over, and they approached the elevator.

“Gotta say,” V breathed, eyeing the elevator. “Don’t like goin’ in without knowin’ what’s waiting. Haven’t seen any other exits. This might be a one-way trip.”

The rational part of River’s brain acknowledged the prudence of her concerns. If this had been an NCPD op, there would have been advanced recon, a whole squadron of armored officers, maybe robotics, a netrunner on deck. The NCPD didn’t always work smart, but they did work overkill.

Then there was the issue of cams. He didn’t have a warrant to be here, so legally he was no better than a merc. While he wouldn’t catch flak from his superiors for zeroing gangers with bounties on their heads, he could very well get suspended – or worse – for interfering in a closed case. V had proved adept with the security systems so far. She could probably scrub any evidence that they were here.

He glanced at V, who was securing her ammo clip. Despite her reluctance, she wouldn’t back out. There was too much at stake for her with this gig. The Peralezes were power players in Night City. Finishing this job would be a huge boost to her rep, and a rep was the most important asset a merc had. Was it unfair of him to press forward?

Maybe.

But he wanted answers.

He called the elevator.

“Can’t back down now,” he said, trying to inject some levity into his voice. “’Sides, you’re the one who said to live on the edge, remember?”

“Slippery slope for a badge,” she retorted. The elevator doors slid open, and she followed him into the lift.

* * *

It had never been a particularly sound plan.

A shotgun blast obliterated the upholstery behind where River’s head had been a mere heartbeat before. He was pinned behind an overturned table in one of the club’s booths. By his count, there were four Animals remaining. V was somewhere to the right of the elevator entrance, near the reception area.

He heard a pained shriek from near the bar. Three remaining.

“Outta RAM!” he heard over the comms.

“Fuck,” he swore. It meant her cyberdeck was at capacity. She couldn’t upload any more daemons to hack the Animals’ chrome. They’d have to get out of this through sheer firepower.

“Guy with a shotgun’s got me pinned down,” he said. “On the stairs.”

“Shit, gimme a sec,” she answered. “Can’t get a line of sight.”

“Hurry!” shouted River, as another blast rocked the table.

Suddenly, the club went dark. Totally black. Then, the faint white edges of objects on a blue background came into focus as his cybernetic eye shifted to infrared. Wasting no time, River hurdled the table and moved toward the ganger on the stairs. The ganger fired his shotgun, but it went wild. Two shots from River’s gun, and the ganger collapsed.

A third shot, and the Animal behind the bar slumped out of sight.

Where was the last one? River searched the room, hearing a faint electrical hum growing louder as the club’s backup generator kicked on, gradually brightening the lights.

“Get down!” The shout came from behind him. He ducked, raising his pistol as a flash-and-blur tackled the final ganger to the ground, sending the ganger’s shot wild. V stood up, shaking blood drops from the mantis blade she’d buried in the guy’s ribcage.

River stood up straight, out of breath. Blood pounded in his ears and made the edges of his vision blur red. His hands and feet shook as the adrenaline coursing through them had no outlet.

“Thanks, V.” He marveled at how she’d moved so quickly.

She didn’t respond, still staring at the blood-covered blade. The wound had splattered a gory diagonal across her white tank top.

“V?” he prompted.

She shook her head and blinked, coming back to reality. “Yeah, fine,” she said.

“Quick thinking, cutting the power.”

V nodded. “Only thing I could do, really. Jacked into the reception terminal.”

“Smart.” He scanned the room, double-checking that no more unpleasant surprises were waiting for them. “Did you know I had infrared?”

“Nope.”

They began to look around. The Red Queen’s Race was two stories. On the lower level, there was a neon-edged bar surrounded by tables. Closer to the walls were more secluded booths, their tall bench backs upholstered in black synthleather. Racy paraphernalia – handcuffs, whips, ropes, and chains – decorated the walls. Alcoves rimmed with red lighting were set into the walls, their entries obscured with beaded curtains. There wasn’t much promising on the ground floor, just a kitchen behind the bar that led to more storage and a backstage prep area for the joytoys.

Stairs climbed to a second floor mezzanine that overlooked the bar. Either side of the mezzanine led to a wide central hallway with private rooms. River and V peeked into these as they passed. The rooms were decorated with red-and-white abstract-printed rugs, large monitors for spectating BDs, and booths that could seat a small party. Not spying anything of interest, they pressed forward to the end of the hallway, where a small set of stairs led up to a utilitarian door at the very rear of the complex.

River slid the door open. There were several computer monitors on an L-shaped desk against one wall. Papers and receipts littered both desk and floor. The place looked trashed, with boxes and overturned furniture.

“This looks like it,” said River. “Can you see what’s on the comps?”

“Yeah, gimme a sec,” said V as she righted a stool and sat down. She booted the device, which immediately loaded the file menu. “Not exactly top-notch security,” she commented.

She took one of the memory shards from her holster and slotted it into the computer to extract any data that might be on the machine. After a few minutes of poking around, she said, “Okay, found the security cam footage. Here’s the date of Rhyne’s death.”

“The attack was in the afternoon. They called off the press conference, but there was some clean-up at the scene. As I recall, Rhyne got out of their pretty quick, though he would’ve still given a statement. Start scrolling around 6 pm.”

Watching the footage from the camera at the club’s entry, they learned that the Mayor had arrived just after 6:30 in the evening. He’d headed straight back to a private booth on the second floor. Fortunately there was another feed pointed directly at it. V switched over to that camera.

Shortly after Rhyne went into the room, a server brought a tray of drinks and food. She was followed by one of the club’s joytoys. Fast-forward. Less than half an hour later, the joytoy came running out of the room shouting for help. Club security were quick to assess the situation. They walked in the direction of the office where River and V were now, but there was no footage of what happened in that room.

Another forty-five minutes or so passed. V sped up the recording again. Then, a figure came on screen and walked into the private room.

The pit of River’s stomach churned when he saw who it was.

Only moments after he’d entered the mayor’s private booth, Detective Han reemerged in the hallway, pacing back and forth in perfect view of the camera. He had made a call.

“Yep,” he said into his Agent. “Stiff as a board. You ask me, he’s been dead at least an hour.” There was a pause as the person on the other end of the call said something. “No,” replied Han. “No Trauma card. Pretty sure he didn’t bring it on purpose. Eh, club like this, you don’t want TT bangin’ down the door when you’re bangin’ away and things start to heat up…” He trailed off. Another pause. “Heart, probably. Musta gotten a little too heavy an’ messy.” He stopped, listening. Then Han nodded. “Ok…yeah, let’s do that. Coroner’ll find him at home. I’ll tell him how to write it up. ‘Died in his sleep, quiet as a baby.’”

Two men carrying a stretcher came into frame. “Boys’re getting him outta here,” he said over the phone. “’Course nobody’ll see ‘em. No way.” Han gestured for the two men to enter the room. “Yep,” he nodded. “Yes. All right. I’ll buzz you later.” He hung up the Agent and went back into the room.

River leaned back against the deck, rubbing his face with his hands. He watched as V went back and checked the other cams. Between the joytoy running out of the room and Han’s arrival, club management had cleared the place. There would’ve been no witnesses who weren’t in the club’s pocket or that of whoever Han was taking orders from.

“Got some personal messages here,” said V. “Outgoing to Weldon Holt.”

“Get everything,” said River.

“Already done.” She ejected the shard and inserted a second one. “I’m taking everything up until today,” she said. “Then I’m gonna fry the machine. Don’t want anyone to be able to recover that we were here.”

“Sure, sure,” River replied. He wasn’t paying attention. He’d known Han was a workaday cop. He wasn’t in this job because of a burning obsession with figuring out answers, the way River was, or because he was ideologically committed to bringing justice to Night City’s streets. And River knew full well that plenty of cops were just corpo puppets. He shouldn’t have been surprised.

And yet, he’d worked with Han for years now. They didn’t always get along. They disagreed plenty, but they’d had each other’s back.

Or so River had thought.

V finished up. She rose to stand in front of him and pressed a memory shard into his palm. The back of her arm was sticky with blood. “Look, I’m gonna go check out Rhyne’s room, if you wanna take a minute.”

“Yeah,” River said. “Thanks.”

Could he turn this footage over now, knowing it would implicate Han? The man had a family, after all. He had a kid that relied on him.

River turned the shard over in his palm, staring at the small, metallic piece of hardware containing in its circuits a cover-up that would shake Night City politics to their foundations. He wondered what he’d do.

And then V screamed.


	5. However you sleep at night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V visits a ripperdoc; River makes a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter concludes the in-game quest "I Fought the Law." There is quite a lot of content that deviates from/expands upon how the quest plays out in the game.
> 
> My V's first name will not be Valerie.
> 
> I've been unable to find a canonical slang term for "(to send a) text message," so I've opted for "ping." If anyone knows better, I'd appreciate a comment letting me know what's canon! I know of "flick," as in "flick you the detes," but that doesn't really work as an intransitive verb.
> 
> I've transliterated the Tamazight language as I've found it written in dictionaries and phrasebooks because I didn't feel confident attempting a phonetic transliteration.

Blood and ozone. She was falling.

A high-pitched electronic whine pierced her eardrums. Grit scraped under her nails. The world was black. The back of her head throbbed.

Something scraped the side of her temples. Then, light. A patchy, digital flickering. The darkness faded. She was in a room.

A man’s face hovered over hers. Detective River Ward, she remembered. He looked worried. He was trying to say something, but it wasn’t making any sound.

Gradually, the ringing in her ears abated.

“—oo okay?” she heard. “V? Shit…”

“Fffuu—” she groaned.

“You hear me?”

She needed to breathe. Gripping pain seized her lungs. Her nostrils were raw. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to inhale through the agony. She exhaled. That was a little easier. She breathed in and out again. Each time felt better. She opened her eyes.

River was crouched in front of her, hands hovering near but hesitating to touch. Some discarded thing crinkled underneath her right palm as she pushed herself into a sitting position. Her vision sparked, flashing between digital interface and reality. It was less sickening when she focused on a particular object. There was something in River’s hand. She made herself look at it. The braindance halo.

She remembered finding it in the room where Rhyne died. V had gone to check it out after watching the security footage in the office at the Red Queen’s Race. She hadn’t thought much before putting the halo on. Stupid thing to do, in retrospect. Exceedingly stupid. V knew better. River must’ve acted quickly, getting the thing off her.

“Tha-“ she attempted. Swallowing, she tried again. “Thanks for leapin’ into action back there.” The words came easier now.

He sighed, and relaxed back onto his heels. “No problem.” She pushed herself up further, leaning against the booth behind her. “You feelin’ okay?”

“I’ll live.” She thought she would, anyway.

“What was that, V?” he asked.

“You ask me,” she gulped, as a flash rocked her vision. “You ask me, wasn’t a heart attack that killed Rhyne.” Her eyesight settled again.

“As I said from the start, but—”

She interrupted. “Someone spiked his BD. That’s what killed him.”

“Fuck,” breathed River, turning the halo over in his hand. He weighed this news. “Think you could be right,” he finally agreed.

Her neural link started flashing a warning of malfunction in front of her vision. Not a good sign.

“Think you can walk?” River asked as he stood. “We probably shouldn’t hang around.”

She nodded grimly. He reached down and offered her a hand. She grabbed it.

* * *

V slumped against the rear of the elevator. River reached forward to push the button to ride up to the garage. The elevator doors slid closed. SYSTEM MALFUNCTION flashed in red letters. She shut her eyelids. The warning was still there.

* * *

She was stumbling along the pavement. V tripped, palms scraping on the asphalt. River said something. He sounded worried. “Think you better get me to a ripper—” she groaned. She fell sideways, but she didn’t hit the ground.

* * *

V was in River’s truck. He was shaking her shoulders. “V, you gotta tell me where to go,” he insisted.

She coughed. “Vik’s.”

The engine revved. “Can you call him?” River asked. “Will he be there this late?”

“Agent,” V muttered.

River fumbled through her jacket pockets with one hand, steering with the other. She tried to help, but her arms didn’t seem to want to move. Time passed. She saw streetlamps whirling past overhead through the passenger window. Quiet electronic chimes echoed to her left.

“V?” a familiar voice said over the speaker. “S’late. What’re—”

“I’m bringing her in,” said River authoritatively. “Can you meet us?”

“Who is this?” Viktor Vector demanded through the call. “Is V there?”

“Vik,” V sputtered. “Comin’ in hot. Guy bringin’ me there. Doesn’t-“ She coughed. “Doesn’t know where it is.”

“What happened?”

“Spiked BD,” River said. “She’s not movin’. Still conscious though.”

“All right. Look, keep her awake if you can. Her cyberware’ll have a better shot at containing the virus if she’s conscious. I’ll meet you in the alley at the corner of Bradbury and Buran. That’s a couple blocks northeast of Zocalo metro station. And hurry, will you?”

“Will do.” River hung up the Agent and tossed it onto the seat between them. V was pushed back into the seat as the truck accelerated.

“You hear that, V? Gotta stay awake till we get there.”

“ _Ur riġ_ …” she protested, her eyelids fluttering.

“What was that?” River demanded. “Hey! None of that, now.” He grabbed her upper arm and shook her, jostling her eyes open. “Talk to me, V.”

“ _Riġ ad dduġ ad-gnġ_ ,” V complained.

“V? Hey, V! I’m not understandin’ you here. C’mon, V. I need you to stay—”

* * *

“ _Mma, r_ _iġ ad dduġ ad-gnġ_ ,” whined V, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She blinked blearily at the breakfast in front of her. The plastic kitchen tabletop was faded yellow. Warm sunlight basked the room in a homely glow. The rounded metal back of the chair pressed into her neck. Her feet didn’t quite reach the floor.

“You can’t go back to bed, _habibti_ ,” Fadma Valentine chastised gently. “It’s your first day of school.”

“And remember to speak English,” Frank Valentine admonished, not looking up from the screamsheet he was scrolling. “Or your teachers won’t understand what you’re saying.”

V picked up a fork and poked at her food. Eggs, pepper, tomatoes, and spices – all SCOP and soya, of course – fried in a small amount of oil. V’s mother made it for breakfast most days. There was also a small glass of synthetic orange juice, a rare treat for the special occasion.

“Hey, honey,” said V’s father. “Look at this. Mayor just announced plans to develop Pacifica. Gonna be some sort of premiere vacation spot, with hotels and shopping districts.”

Fadma leaned over her husband’s shoulder. “What wonderful news! That must mean work for your firm. They’ll need plenty of architects.” She spotted V poking at her food and made a _tsk!_ sound, gesturing with her hand. “Eat your eggs before they get cold-“

* * *

V shifted. Her eyelids fluttered open. Multi-colored lights were twirling in a circle like dancers. A stoplight. The car was turning.

“Hey, V,” a voice called gently. “Hang in there, okay? Almost there.” She felt a reassuring hand squeeze her shoulder. “How’re you feeling?”

“ _Mrdġ_.” She frowned, or tried to. Her words didn’t sound as she expected.

She caught a glimpse of a noodle joint she knew. They were near Little China, almost to Vik’s. “ _Dur xf uzlmad_.” She tried to point, but she couldn’t move her arm. “ _Ddu din_.”

“Listen, uh, not sure what you’re sayin’,” River hesitated, turning the steering wheel. The truck skidded left down a narrow street, tires squealing. “But I think we’re almost there. Try an’ stay awake, okay?”

V wasn’t sure how much later, but eventually the truck slowed to a halt. Immediately, she felt the passenger door give way, causing her to lurch sideways. Arms caught her.

“Shit, this her blood?” a man’s voice said. Vik.

“No, she’s not physically hurt.”

“Help me carry her?”

“Just move aside. I’ve got her.”

Her vision spun as she was jostled between hands and then lifted out of the car.

“This way.”

Deft fingers pulled back her eyelids. A bright light shined between her eyes. She flinched.

“Pupils‘re responsive, that’s good.”

“She was unconscious for a while. She was talkin’, but my translator didn’t process it. I think it was a language, though, not gibberish.”

“Hm,” Vik said disapprovingly. “May be that the virus is targeting the language centers of the brain. Already got her motor cortex if she can’t move her limbs. We’d better hurry.”

There was a sound of metal scraping on concrete. Her head lolled, vision alternating between light and dark as they passed under lights in the ceiling.

“Set her in the chair,” Vik directed. V’s world stilled. “You don’t happen to have a copy of the virus, by any chance?”

“Got it right here, as a matter of fact.”

Vik sighed with relief. “Good, good. That’ll make things easier—”

* * *

Everything was dark, but she could hear voices.

“You spar?”

“Eh, just to work out.”

“Thought as much. Used to box, myself. Waaay back in the day.”

“That right.”

“Mhm. Made it as far as the Watson Boxing Grand Prix once. Came in second, heavyweight division. That was before fighters all had their skulls lined. KOs were still a thing that could happen. These days-“

“I brought you some coffee. Thought you could use it,” a woman’s voice said.

“Thanks.”

“Thanks, Misty.”

As V opened her eyes, she could see the monitors suspended overhead. One scrolled a readout of her vitals. The other interfaced with her tech. She turned her head slowly. Vik was sitting on his rolling stool, coffee in one hand, leaning on the opposite elbow. A replay of a fight played on mute on a small screen mounted to the wall. River leaned against another wall, sitting on the old weight bench that constituted Vik’s waiting room. Misty, with a halo of blonde hair and wrapped in an oversized blue sweater, stood between them.

“Hey,” Misty said. She had a sweet voice. V always felt a pang of emotion around Misty, both because of who she was and who she reminded V of. “Look who’s waking up.”

Vik immediately wheeled over. He was probably faster rolling around on that thing than walking, V thought. Setting his drink to the side, he checked a few signals on the machines she was currently plugged in to.

“Lookin’ good,” he said, satisfied. “How do you feel?”

She grunted, propping herself up onto one elbow. “Better,” she said. “Just sore.”

“Good.” He peered over his glasses at her. “Then I don’t have to feel guilty about tellin’ you that I’m getting pretty sick and tired of strange men dragging you half-dead into my clinic in the middle of the night. If this is some twisted first date move, I _implore_ you to find another one.”

“What can I say, doc,” she wheezed, pushing herself into a sitting position. “I know how to show a guy a good time.” She cracked a grin at River. He stared back, bemused.

Vik waved her off. “You’ll be fine,” he sighed. “ _Be more careful_. Am I takin’ an IOU?”

“Actually, I’ll need an itemized receipt, if you can make one. You can, ah, probably leave your contact info off, just in case.”

“Now that is a request I’ve not heard in a long time. It’ll take me a bit. I’ll get somethin’ to you.”

She gingerly shifted her weight to her feet, flexed her fingertips, and looked from side to side. All seemed in working order.

“That was one heck of a virus you picked up,” Vik said, gesturing to the halo.

“If you’re done with that, give it to Detective Ward. He’s gotta take it in as evidence.”

“Shit, you a badge?” Vik exclaimed, looking at River as if he’d been bitten by his own dog. “V, this is the worst one yet! Are you _tryin’_ to get me shut down?”

“Calm down, old man.” V rolled her eyes. He wasn’t upset. Not really. It _was_ a breach of the protocol of the edge to bring a cop onto the premises unannounced, kind of like bringing a brand-new output to a wedding without a plus-one. “River’s all right,” she ameliorated, vouching for her rescuer.

“Yeah, well, if the NCPD comes after me, it’s you that _I’ll_ come after.” He waved them out of the clinic.

“See ya, V.”

“Thanks, Misty. I’ll stop by soon for a real visit. Promise.”

River offered her a ride back to where they’d parked her bike. Dawn was just breaking outside, foggy and dim. It seemed ages ago she’d first sat across a booth from the detective, moralizing about her theories of the two types of cop in the world.

They settled into the truck and River started the ignition. “So,” he said. “You, uh, come here often?” The right corner of his mouth turned upward. He looked tired but she was glad to see he still had some sense of humor about the whole escapade.

“What gave me away?” she asked innocently.

“Not many ripperdocs would open up shop in the middle of the night like that, or stay up all night workin’ on the faint promise of an IOU.” He pulled the truck into the alley and then turned onto the main road.

“Vik’s one of the good ones,” V said. “Known him for a while now. Probably helps that I give him regular work. And pay on time. Usually.”

“What’d Vik mean when he said I’m ‘the worse one yet’?”

“Sorry,” shrugged V. “That’s confidential. Merc code, you get it.”

“Right, right.”

The city was gray with the first light of morning. Night City was never quiet, not truly, but this time of day felt the most calm. Like something was coming to a close. Or maybe getting ready to start. Clubbers were thinking of heading back to their beds after a night on the town. Straphangers were getting ready to start their morning commute. V leaned her head back, taking it in.

“While you were out,” River interrupted her thoughts. “You were speaking some language-“ He let the thought trail off.

“Tamazight, probably,” said V. She vaguely remembered feeling like her words were coming out strangely, a relic of her childhood. “You might’ve heard it called Berber. My mom immigrated from Morocco.”

“She live here?”

V shook her head. “She caught a stray bullet when I was twelve. Standoff between the NCPD and Sixth Street.”

“Shit. I’m sorry, V.”

“It happens.”

It happened all the time in Night City.

They rode in thoughtful silence until they reached the interstate, when River confessed, “I, uh, pinged Han to meet me at the diner.”

“What’re you gonna do?” V asked. In all the chaos, Han’s cover-up of Rhyne’s murder had fallen to the back of her mind. River’d had all night to sit with it, though.

“Not sure.”

The closer they got, the more agitated River seemed. He was practically vibrating. Nothing V could say would help, so she didn’t. They pulled off the interstate and into the diner parking lot. It was nearly empty. V’s bike was still parked there, as was Han’s car, a clunker of a sedan. Boring family vehicle. Two types of cop. Han stood outside the car, leaning on the hood and smoking a cigarette.

River, every inch the other type of cop, swerved to a halt, not bothering to stay within the lines of the parking spot. He stared down at the steering wheel before swearing “Fuck!” and pushing away angrily. He stormed out of the vehicle, slamming the door behind him. V exited from the passenger side.

Deciding that whatever was about to happen was none of her business, she crossed her arms and leaned against the truck. River strode to confront Han.

“Still hangin’ around with this punk?” Han gestured toward V with his lit cigarette. In her black moto jacket and blood-soaked tank, she looked definitely more merc than she had the day before.

“Shut it, Harold,” River spat before Han could even finish the sentence. River loomed over his partner. V was glad not to be on the receiving end of his intimidating presence. “I know what you did. Not about to ask why you covered it up. Not even why you jumped into this mess to begin with. Just wanna know – who gave you the order?”

“What’s it matter, River? Why d’you even care? Your conscience is clear, you can sleep tight at night. Ya know why? ‘Cause I took all the responsibility.” He hooked a thumb toward his own chest. “You got no idea how this city works. Think your goddamn inspirational, idealist bullshit actually means something?” He tossed the cigarette butt onto the pavement. “It doesn’t, never did.”

Han looked from River to V. “’Ey, don’t look at me that way, merc. You know I’m right,” he addressed V.

“Don’t drag me into this,” she said. “I don’t do politics or NCPD inner-squabbles.”

“Yeah, so what do you do? Lemme guess – whatever brings in the eds, huh? S’typical…I’m not surprised, but I’m not judging either. Looking for a place and a path in this city – like all of us.”

Anger welled in her throat. She couldn’t pin it, not exactly sure what Han’d said that rubbed her wrong. But there was something… _she_ was something… _more_. More’n what he said. More’n just a merc working for the highest bidder.

“Don’t know fuck all about me,” she hissed. “Don’t even try and guess what I’m about.”

“Didn’t mean no offense.” Han retreated.

“V,” said River. “’Preciate the help, but this isn’t your biz. I’ll take care of it.”

She turned her glare from Han to River. Standing up from her lean, she stalked to the edge of the parking lot, where a concrete railing fenced in an overlook of the river. She rested her wrists, perversely enjoying the ache of the rough surface on her raw skin, and drummed her fingertips.

Behind her, the altercation continued.

“How exactly are you gonna ‘take care of it’?” Han demanded. “Am I under arrest?”

“Got a scroll, got a motive, got your confession. So yeah, you could be. But it wouldn’t make much sense. You don’t even gotta say who ordered you to go and clean up. I know anyway. So since even our brass’s fingers are all over this, I gotta take it to internal.”

“They won’t do a thing either.” Han sounded certain. “Not to me. They’ll put _you_ in their sights, though…Just go home, Ward. Get some sleep. Find all this easier to take once you’ve had some rest.” V heard the sound of a car door opening. “I mean,” Han concluded, “that’s my plan.”

The car door closed, and the engine turned over. Wheels ground against the pavement. V stared out over the water.

Then, there was a shape at her elbow. This close, V felt the raw physicality of the detective’s presence, something she hadn’t had time to notice in the tumult of the previous night’s escapades. Now, in the almost-still of early morning, as fog rolled in from Del Coronado Bay coating the city in a gray blanket, she was hyper-aware of how he breathed. Moved.

“Fuck,” he sighed, hanging his head forward.

“What’re you gonna do now?”

“Won’t let this go. Can’t.” He shook his head, as if trying to shake loose the determination in his voice. “Holt murdered Rhyne. Wanted his seat. Oldest, tritest motive in the book. That’s why I believe it.” He turned around and crossed his arms. “Used the NCPD to cover his tracks.”

“Listen, I think so, too, but you got no actual proof it was Holt. Just that there was a cover-up. Holt was tangled up in it, but you still don’t know for certain it was him gave the order.”

“Got enough to get the case reopened, if I take it to Internal Affairs,” he countered.

V thought about it, thought about what she would do. She twisted to look up at him.

“Listen,” she said, uncertain about whether she should speak at all. Some inner compulsion made her continue. “I know you’re not askin’ for my advice, but in my experience, there’s only one way to live in Night City – and I mean _live_ , not just respirate and shuffle around on two feet – and that way is whatever lets you sleep soundly at night. You can’t always be true to other people, and they sure as fuck won’t be true to you, but you have to be true to yourself or this city will grind you up and spit you back out.

“Han was right about one thing. Sleep on it. Take a shower. And then hand over the evidence with a clear head. It’s not emotional, it’s not vengeful, it’s what _you_ have to do.”

River looked at her like he was seeing her for the first time.

People in Night City didn’t usually see you. They sized you up. Judged whether you were a threat. Cops would scan V for signs of trouble as she passed them on the street, noting any distinguishing features or evidence of deviance, just like River had when they’d first met in the diner. Thugs would gauge whether she was tough enough to take down if push came to literal shove. Fixers saw how they could move her, like a pawn on a chessboard, to earn them the most money. Corpos calculated how much money they could squeeze, how far they could wring her until she was dry.

She hadn’t been seen the way River was seeing her now in a very long time. Somehow, she felt that her body was at once tumbling in motion _and_ perfectly still.

After minutes – or was it heartbeats? – of holding her gaze, he nodded. “Yeah. You’re right. Thanks, V.” His jaw was set with purpose, chin high, shoulders back. Something had loosened inside of him, a weight he'd been carrying. There was a spark in his eye.

They parted in silence. V retrieved her duffel from the passenger seat of the truck and crunched loose gravel under her boots as she crossed the parking lot back to her bike. She stowed the bag and then swung her leg over the seat and settled down, flicking the ignition to “on” as she kicked up the stand. Squeezing the clutch, she cranked the engine and then slid the machine into gear. As she steered out of the parking lot and onto the interstate, she thought it was unlikely she would see Detective River Ward again. She hadn’t even thanked him properly for saving her life.

But she was from Night City, and she didn’t look back.


	6. Stirrin' up trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a visit to the Heywood precinct, River refuses to let things lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place between the quests "I Fought the Law" and "The Hunt." I was interested in exploring River's relationship to his job, since when we meet his character, it's an all-consuming thing for him, as well as more about his personal life.
> 
> After this post, things might slow down a bit due to work! I've got another chapter in the pipeline, and I'll try to continue to post regularly.

The Heywood precinct consisted of two buildings at the corner of Ventura and Skyline. It was mere blocks away from one of the most embroiled gang territories in Night City, a barrio controlled by the Valentinos that sprawled from the river to the Glen. An outsider couldn’t step foot in that territory without catching lead from at least three different directions. That the NCPD could not control a zone so close to their own base of operations was symbolic of their overall position in the city.

Taking half of V’s advice, River had gone back to his apartment to shower and change into a fresh set of street clothes. His apartment was a small studio in a six-floor building between the Heywood precinct and the Glen, undesirable due to its location under an overpass that blocked all sunlight and provided a constant rumble of traffic overhead. River didn’t care. It was cheap and close to work. The supe made sure that garbage was collected at least once a month, and she’d actually send a plumber if there was an emergency with the pipes. There was an Argentinian takeout place in the first floor that had usually-edible empanadas and cold beer, and the building next-door had a half-decent gym in the basement. No one seemed to mind that he was a cop. At least, not to his face. It was an okay place to live, all things considered. He didn’t spend much time there anyway.

The apartment itself was fairly orderly, though it was not so much due to effort as to a general lack of belongings to clutter up the place. A pile of takeout containers was growing on the kitchenette counter, and he needed to toss some trash bags. The walls were bare – except for a dreamcatcher made of a real willow hoop nailed above the mattress – and there was no point to getting curtains because there was never any sun to block. It was an older building, constructed before corps started outfitting apartments with _gratis_ TVs, radios, and vending machines to boost residential consumption. He did have one small, secondhand TV that was shoved into a corner.

He'd stripped nearly as soon as walking in, tossing his coat onto the mattress and throwing the rest of his clothes into the laundry bin that Mrs. Ota-Davis would collect at the end of the week. River dimly recollected what V had said about engine grease and laundry.

River stood under the shower until the hot water ran out – it lasted almost five minutes this time, not bad – and felt some of his energy return. He toweled off, shaved, threw on some clothes and his jacket, rummaged in the kitchen cabinets for a tofu bar, and then slid the door shut behind him.

It had been a little over an hour-and-a-half since he’d met Han at Chubby Buffalo’s. Han was off today, so River wouldn’t have to worry about seeing him for the time being.

Patrol, which formed the backbone of the NCPD, had their own separate building in Heywood’s precinct complex. The Patrol Division also housed an underground garage of vehicles and NCPD equipment. The other building – where River worked – was organized by rank, from ground floor up. The first floor was Admin. Nobody wanted to be relegated to Admin. The next four floors were Investigation: Vice, Robbery, Homicide, and Special Investigations, in that order. Tactical, which would have been next, was too good to be housed in the precinct with the rest of the cops, or such was their opinion. They had their own fortified complex off-site. Sixth floor was Net Security. A precinct like Pacifica where netrunner gangs were a constant threat to the city’s infrastructure had three full floors dedicated to NETSEC. Heywood’s gangs were less technologically inclined. Finally, all the way at the top, was Internal Affairs. No one looked forward to a trip upstairs.

River jogged up the staircase to Vice, where an old acquaintance of his worked. They’d started in Patrol at the same time, and Ortíz had finally been promoted to Vice just last year. Ortíz had been a good beat cop. He knew everything that happened on the streets.

“Ward!” Ortíz greeted as River approached his desk. “Haven’t seen your mug for a minute. How’s things upstairs?”

“Eh, same as usual, I guess.” He was too focused to muster up any friendly banter. “Listen, Ortíz, you got CIs up in Watson, right?”

“Sure do,” said Ortíz, leaning back in his chair. “Lemme guess, you’re about to ask me for something.”

“A small thing,” River reassured. “Wonderin’ if you’ve heard about a merc goes by V. As in the letter.”

“Should have known. Should. Have. Known. Only reason River Ward would come to visit little ol’ me is to ask a favor.” His tone teased, but there was truth behind the words. “Listen, I’m about to go on break, but I’ll check my notes when I get back. But you, choom, owe me a beer later.”

“Sure thing,” nodded River. “I’ll be upstairs. Thanks, Ortíz.”

“I’m holding you to that beer!” Ortíz called after River who was already moving back to the stairwell.

Reaching the fourth floor, River waved perfunctory greetings at his colleagues _en route_ to his desk. Once upon a time, if River had entered the precinct on a day when he didn’t have a shift scheduled, he would have been greeted with a chorus of “Hey, what’re you doing here? Get home, get off your feet!” They knew better now.

He had to pass Han’s desk to get to his own, which abutted it. There was a framed picture of Harold’s daughter, Tano, sitting in view. It was a few years old. River remembered Han had taken a vacation to the beach that summer. He scowled at the still, shoving down feelings of guilt that it elicited.

He sent a message to Internal Affairs requesting a meeting with the Deputy Commissioner regarding the handling of the Rhyne case. Almost immediately, he received a message back assigning him an appointment with an IAD officer named Andrea Miller later that afternoon. He didn’t know her. River sighed, unsurprised that IAD was sending the case to be vetted before elevating it to the Deputy Commissioner. It was standard operation, but he’d hoped the Rhyne name on the memo would fast-track things.

He pulled the memory shard that contained the cam footage from the Red Queen’s Race and made a back-up copy. Then he started documenting everything. The green-on-black text he typed was like walking a tightrope. He couldn’t implicate himself, since the evidence had been obtained without a warrant and therefore couldn’t technically be submitted as evidence, but he did need to demonstrate strong indication of misconduct.

Paperwork had a way of consuming his attention, so he was surprised when his Agent started ringing and he saw nearly an hour had passed.

“This is Ward.”

“Heya, choom,” said Ortíz cheerily. “You mighta had some bad intel. Gotta V in my notes here, but one operating out of Heywood, not Watson. A regular of the El Coyote Cojo out by Hanford Overpass.”

“Interesting,” River commented, filing the information away in his brain. “Anything else?”

“Yeah, she came to Night City from somewhere out east around a year ago but didn’t start making waves until about six months back. Gotta rep as an up-and-comer.”

“That…doesn’t sound right,” River mulled. “The V I’m talking about is a Night City native.”

“Well, hey, it’s not exactly a unique handle, no? Might be a different V.”

“Got any other info? Known associates?”

“Only one. A Jackie Welles. His _mamá_ owns the Coyote. I’ve heard about the family. All the Welles boys used to run with the Valentinos, but that was a few years ago. Jackie went independent. Was small-time until about six months back when he got hired by Dexter DeShawn.”

“DeShawn disappeared a few months ago.”

“Yessir, about six months, actually.”

DeShawn had been a fixer in Watson. Even though River usually didn’t keep up with gossip from other districts in the city, DeShawn had been a big enough player in Night City’s underground that even River’d heard about his vanishing act. There were rumors about his whereabouts, of course, but none credible.

“And Welles? Where’s he now?”

“Flatlined. Right about the same time. My CI was at the _ofrenda_. This V was there, supposedly.”

River rocked back in his office chair.

“Say, whaddaya want with this merc anyway?” asked Ortíz.

“Not sure yet. But I ‘preciate the help, in any case.”

Ortíz reminded River about the beer he was owed, and then he hung up the call.

River stared at the monitor. He felt the familiar sensation of the start of a new puzzle, a fizzy, excited feeling in the back of his mind. Closing the window that contained the report he was writing, he pulled up the NCPD database.

Night City had over six million residents inside its limits, with more in the Badlands surrounding the city. On average, 60,000 documented immigrants came to the city each year. Only about 100 of those were from Morocco, and less than half were women. Even when he narrowed down that pool based on his guess about V’s age, it still resulted in a list of nearly 500 women who might be her mother. That was assuming the mother had immigrated legally.

He cross-checked that list against the accidental death roster. The deaths of bystanders in police-gang altercations were usually noted as “accidental” without further elaboration. It kept the official count of deaths caused by police down that way, which the mayor could then brag about on the news. Acting Mayor Weldon Holt was certainly the type to brag, River thought bitterly. Given Night City’s astronomical homicide rate of over 200,000 per year, the list was still too long to deduce much.

Getting nowhere, River forced himself to push the puzzle that was V to one side. He had much bigger problems to worry about. Couldn’t afford to be distracted now.

After he finished documenting everything about the footage from the club where Rhyne had died, he took the BD halo up to NETSEC where he called in a favor. They’d have to keep the halo for a couple of days, but they promised to run a full analysis off-books. With luck, the virus would point to a netrunner’s sig. That might be a lead he could follow up on, see who hired the ‘runner.

Before he dropped off the halo, he made note of the make and serial number to see if he could trace its purchase, as well as the same data from the BD shard itself. In all likelihood, it would lead to a dead end, since no one with the intention of spiking a BD would purchase the halo or shard above board. But it was worth looking into just in case.

Once all that was done, it was nearly time for his appointment. He copied all of his notes and the cam footage onto a couple of spare shards and then sat at his desk, getting his story straight in his mind.

“Hey, Ward. Gotta sec?” a voice asked.

It was St. Louis. Of Haitian origin by way of Pacifica, her actual last name was _Saint Louis_ , but everyone called her St. Louis, like the city.

“A quick one,” River replied.

She dragged a metal chair from a side table over to his desk.

“Listen, you know my girlfriend works up in IAD right?”

“I remember.” In truth, he only vaguely remembered. The NCPD were clannish that way, always dating internally. Even though it was officially discouraged and should result in transfers in the event of conflicting interest, superiors tended to look the other way. They would look the other way on most things that kept officers tied to the force, personally or otherwise. Attrition rates were high.

“I caught wind that you’re planning on taking something up there.” She paused, picking at her fingernails. “Ward, you’re a good guy. So, I gotta tell you…You take something up there, it’ll be a mistake. The upstairs brass have a lot to answer to—”

“Don’t they always,” interrupted River sourly.

“—and it’s a hell of a lot easier for them to bust your ass down to beat cop, or worse, Admin, than to look for trouble up the ladder. As a _friend_ , I’m sayin’ you should just let whatever this is drop.”

She looked at him earnestly. He leaned forward, sighing.

“Look, Lou, you don’t know what I got. I’ve found evidence that’ll—”

“It. Doesn’t. Matter,” she cut in, slapping the back of her knee with each word for emphasis. “You could have video footage of someone shooting Rhyne in the street, a dozen eyewitness accounts, and a signed confession letter, and it still would. Not. Matter.”

He thought about the conversation he’d had with V in the parking lot at Chubby Buffalo’s. It was a strange world when a mercenary outlaw who he’d barely met was the only person in his life who understood what he needed to do, and why. And what’s more, actually supported him in it.

“I can’t let this go.”

She exhaled, recognizing defeat. Standing up and sliding the chair back to its original position, she said, “Well, I tried. Good luck, Ward.” Realizing it had come out too harshly, St. Louis amended, “I do mean that. Good luck.”

The elevator ride to the seventh floor took ages, and not just because of the NCPD’s ancient elevators.

A receptionist greeted him. “Detective Ward?” he inquired politely. River nodded. “You can go on back. Take a left, and it’s the third door.”

Internal Affairs, unlike the noisy open plan of the lower floors, was a warren of closed-door offices. Everything was too still up here. Everyone talked in hushed tones. Past reception, he turned the corner and nearly stopped when he saw his sergeant, Rivera, leaning against the wall, waiting. Steeling himself, fists clenched, River pressed forward.

“Ward,” Rivera said solemnly. He gestured for River to enter the open door of the third office ahead of him. An IAD officer, presumably Andrea Miller, sat behind the desk. Already seated in front of her was Rivera’s superior, Lieutenant Adams. Rivera laid a firm hand on River’s shoulder.

“Sit down, Ward.”

The door clanked shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a source for info about the NCPD's different departments, I used the Cyberpunk Fandom wiki. For info about homicide rates in Night City, a post by Reddit user Allon-18 on the r/cyberpunkgame subreddit was invaluable. Immigration rates I based on current US immigration, with the assumption that a large, independent city-state would have a fairly high immigration rate relative to population. I do not profess to be an expert on any of this, and more than once I pulled knowledge from Brooklyn 99. :D 
> 
> When describing the dreamcatcher above River's mattress, I am interpreting River as having some Native heritage based on a few clues from the game and elsewhere. In addition to the feather necklace he wears in the game, there are also dreamcatchers in the trailer park above his bed. In "I Fought the Law" in one of the dialogue options when interrogating the CI, he makes a comment about swearing upon his ancestors (I'll admit this one is very tenuous). The Fextralife Cyberpunk wiki mentions the trailer park where Joss lives as being in habited by "other Native Americans," but I'm not sure what the original source on that is. Finally, River's voice actor has part-Native heritage, as well. I'm not sure how relevant any of this will be to the overall plot of the story, but I think it will come up again as River reconnects with his roots.


	7. The friends you lose along the way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V gets a payday and visits friends, past and future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content note: discussion of suicide.
> 
> In the events of the game, this quest includes the tail end of "I Fought the Law" and a snippet of "Gimme Danger."
> 
> This one's long and gets angsty. Hurt/comfort.

V frowned, looking at the built-in closet that held her modest collection of clothing. The Peralezes had set the meet for this afternoon. They’d wanted to meet yesterday, but V had been too tired and convinced them to wait. They wanted her to go to their apartment - no, V mentally corrected, their _penthouse_ \- in the north part of Heywood that might as well be Corpo Plaza. When she was growing up, that area had been filled with corpo-wannabes. Like her parents, she recollected resentfully. Now the area was just plain corpo.

Her present dilemma: what to wear that would draw the least attention to herself.

She rummaged through her clothes and found a maroon button-down that looked like something waitstaff at a mid-tier restaurant would wear. Perfect. The most conservative pants she had were black synthleather leggings. If you didn’t look too close, you wouldn’t notice the reinforced mesh cutouts. Plain black biker boots completed the flimsy disguise.

Moving to stand in front of the mirror, V grimaced at her reflection and thought about unbuttoning a few buttons and rolling up her sleeves. Ultimately, she decided against it and instead combed out her damp hair before plaiting it into her customary side braid.

From the sitting area, her Agent pinged.

> VIK
> 
> Got that invoice you wanted. Attached.

Good, she thought. It was just in time. V opened the attachment and winced, hoping that the Peralezes would hold good on their offer to cover expenses. They’d never discussed an upper limit.

V sent a response.

> V
> 
> Thanks, old man. Getting paid today. Keep an eye out for a combat implant for my blades.
> 
> VIK
> 
> I’ll try. They’re not easy to come by, you know.
> 
> V
> 
> I have faith in you.

Before leaving her apartment, she clipped on a belt that had a holster at the small of her back and slid her pistol into it. She pulled the shirt over it to hide the gun from sight. She made sure to grab the memory shard of the cam footage from the Red Queen’s Race, just it case it was the deciding factor between her getting paid or zeroed, and then V headed out the door.

Megabuilding H10 in Watson’s Little China district was a cramped warren of over 20,000 apartments, all pretty much identical to V’s. The utilitarian hallways were littered with uncollected garbage – garbage was a constant problem in Night City – and smelled of old sweat and mildew. V was meticulous about keeping that smell from wafting into her apartment.

If you wanted to, you could live in a megabuilding indefinitely without ever setting foot outside. There were internal courtyards with stores, takeout joints, and workout equipment on the lower levels. Residents with kids might take it upon themselves to organize a school with other parents from their floor.

Bypassing these self-styled amenities, V headed straight for the elevator that went to the subterranean garage where her bike was parked. Her bike tore recklessly through the parking garage and sped out into the sunlight.

* * *

“V?” the voice over the comm said. “We’re upstairs.”

V stepped away from the intercom camera and pulled open one of the sleek glass doors of Luxury Apartments. They looked like ordinary glass, but V wagered they’d stop a launched missile.

The lobby was filled with tasteful reflective surfaces. A plush black carpet – how on earth did they keep it so clean? – led to a bank of elevators at the rear of the building. There was a separate elevator designated for the penthouse. V called it.

She always felt a sense of dread entering a dead end. Maybe it was some streetkid survival instinct, to always need to know where your second exit was. She wasn’t sure if the feeling in the pit of her stomach this time was literal or metaphorical. A voice in the back of her mind told her that giving too much info to the Peralezes would sink her into the quagmire that was Night City politics. On the other hand, too little info, and she wouldn’t get paid.

The elevator arrived, and she began the long ascent. Her Agent pinged. It was a message from Judy.

> JUDY
> 
> Hey, V, you wanna hang later?
> 
> V
> 
> Sure, just gotta close out a gig first.
> 
> JUDY
> 
> Nova. Pick me up at Lizzie’s. I got a place I wanna take you.

The ride continued all the way to the twenty-fifth floor. The elevator doors opened into an elegant foyer. Elizabeth Peralez stood waiting for her.

“Hello, V. Please, come in,” she greeted.

“Nice to see you,” replied V.

“You as well. Make yourself at home. Jefferson will join us shortly.”

V followed Elizabeth down a long hallway lined with abstract paintings. Wine-colored carpets softened an otherwise modernly sleek aesthetic. At the end of the hallway, a grand piano autonomously played classical music. The only blight on this landscape of sedate luxury was the armored security turret hanging from the ceiling that safeguarded the entrance.

Elizabeth showed her to a spacious living area and invited her to sit on a black leather sofa. The outer wall of the room was floor-to-ceiling windows, with a balcony beyond, that looked down on Night City. There was a metaphor there, V thought.

Shortly, Jefferson Peralez entered, greeting V. He settled onto a couch opposite, while Elizabeth perched on the back behind him, holding a cocktail glass. Even the way they sat illustrated their relationship: Jefferson the friendly public face, and Elizabeth the power behind the throne.

“Elizabeth tells me you have answers for us. I’m all ears,” said Jefferson, accepting the cocktail that Liz offered.

V hesitated. How should she put it? “While it’s not one hundred percent clear what happened…” she began.

“Hardly anything ever is,” Elizabeth said smoothly. “But?”

V nodded. “I’ve got some idea.” Here it comes. “Rhyne was murdered. At a sex club. Someone gave him a virus-spiked BD.”

The Peralezes looked at one another. Jefferson looked openly shocked. Elizabeth – the more subtle of the two – had an inscrutable expression.

“You sure?” Jefferson asked.

“Same BD almost wiped me,” affirmed V. “So yeah, I’d say I’m sure.”

They considered this. Jefferson took a sip from his glass. “Got any idea who did it?”

This was the most delicate part. It sure seemed like a lot of evidence pointed to Weldon Holt’s involvement, but there was no definitive proof. In the Peralezes’ position, V would want to know who to trust. They already distrusted Holt as Jefferson’s political rival, so there wasn’t much to gain by sharing her suspicions on that lead.

“I can’t say for sure who gave the order to place the spiked BD,” she answered, choosing her words carefully, “but I do know that NCPD was involved in covering it up. They made sure the body was found at Rhyne’s house, rather than at the club, and that the death was reported as natural causes.”

There. If they accepted that, she could finish the job with a clean conscience. While politicians would likely hire their own private security detail, like Mayor Rhyne had – not that it did him much good – the NCPD also supervised public events. The Peralezes would know not to trust them. That might save their skins.

Elizabeth nodded. “That’s all we need to know, Jeff. We have to be careful. Keep a close eye on anyone with pull in the NCPD. And up our security.”

Her husband nodded. “You’re right…As always, you’re right.” He looked up at her with a tight smile. “Thanks for your help, V. Let me send you your fee.”

“About that,” V said reluctantly. “I mentioned I was infected by the spiked BD in the, ah…process of collecting evidence. I unfortunately incurred some medical expenses. I can send you the invoice.”

They didn’t bat an eye. She flicked Jefferson the invoice, and he immediately responded by transferring her fee in full plus the expenses. V’d been fully prepared to argue her case. Should’ve realized these were no back-alley fixers. Getting more money out of a fixer was like pulling teeth, but you were guaranteed to get at least some of what was agreed upon. Working with independent clients, however, could go one of two ways. Either they paid you, nice and simple, no argument, like the Peralezes, or they iced you on the way out the door.

“Been a pleasure,” said V, shifting to her feet. “You two watch out for each other.

* * *

On the elevator ride back down, she went to transfer Vik his share of the scratch and noticed a missed message from Goro Takemura.

> TAKEMURA
> 
> We must talk. Meet me in the market in Japantown. Take the elevator to floor 18 and cross the bridge.

Takemura was the disgraced former head of security for Arasaka, the most powerful corp in Night City and one of the most powerful corps in the world. Six months ago, V had met Takemura during a heist gone sideways. No, that was too much of an understatement. The job had ended with her losing her best friend. V herself had nearly died and had spent weeks recovering. Takemura had saved her, gotten her to Vik’s.

As a result, V was the only living witness to the murder of former CEO Saburo Arasaka, whom Takemura’d been sworn to protect, by his son Yorinobu.

V and Jackie had been recruited by Dexter DeShawn to klep a rare artifact from Yorinobu on behalf of their buyer Evelyn Parker. With the help of netrunner T-Bug, the plan had been to infiltrate Yorinobu’s penthouse suite at the Konpeki Plaza hotel and steal a shard called the Relic. Cracking Konpeki security wasn’t easy, but it should’ve been an in-and-out job. Instead, while she and Jackie were in the suite, Yorinobu’d surprised them by suddenly entering and being met by his father Saburo. From their hiding spot behind a maintenance panel, they’d watched Yorinobu strangle his father and then send the hotel on lockdown, claiming Suburo’d been poisoned.

V still wasn’t sure how they’d gotten out of there, and she was the only one who’d gotten out alive. Jackie died of injuries during their escape, while Bug had succumbed to Arasaka’s black ICE.

V and Takemura formed an unlikely pair. Takemura’s motive was simple: expose Yorinobu as a murderer. V’s was more complex. Part of her wanted revenge for Jackie. Part of her felt she owed Takemura for saving her life. He’d literally dragged her mostly-dead body from where it had been dumped by Dexter DeShawn after the job went south. Part of her – a larger part than she cared to admit – just wanted to see the corp burn.

For the past six months they’d been working, planning. First, they’d needed more intel on the Relic to understand Yorinobu’s motives and potentially expose Arasaka’s weaknesses. That had entailed kidnapping one Anders Hellman, the bioengineer who’d directed the Relic Project. Using V’s underworld contacts, she had teamed up with a nomad from the Aldecaldos named Panam Palmer to intercept Hellman’s escort. V had secreted Hellman to the Sunset Motel, just outside the city, where Takemura had interrogated him.

As an unexpected result of that adventure, V and Panam had become fast friends.

Now, she and Takemura were plotting how to contact the second Arasaka child, Yorinobu’s sister Hanako, who was in Night City in preparation for an upcoming matsuri festiva.. Hanako was guarded by Takemura’s protégé Oda, but Oda had refused to set up a meeting.

V guessed Takemura was contacting her with a breakthrough on the plan. He’d been quiet for a few weeks. Still needing to pay her debts and feed herself – the business of revenge didn’t exactly put food on the table - V’d taken some side jobs, like the one with the Peralezes.

She sent two messages: one to Takemura and one to Judy. The message to Takemura said she’d be there in thirty minutes. The message to Judy said she was running late.

> JUDY
> 
> No problem. Ping me when you get here. Gotta virtu to finish up anyhow.

Takemura was, as promised, waiting just across the footbridge on the eighteenth story of the Japantown marketplace. He was chatting up some NCPD badges. As V drew closer, she overheard him asking about security for the upcoming matsuri festival. She leaned against the railing, maintaining a safe distance from the cops, and caught his eye.

He immediately spotted her. Must be that top-notch security training from Arasaka. Disentangling himself from the convo with the cops, he walked over.

“Goro, good to see you,” said V.

“And you, as well, V,” he replied with a nod. “You have changed your hair.”

“Ah, yep.” It was pink now.

“I am glad to see you dressing professionally. It shows you are taking this seriously.” V rolled her eyes. There were times, more and more nowadays, when Goro seemed more like her grandfather than her co-conspirator.

“I wouldn’t get used to it,” she muttered, but he was already on the move. With his crisp white button-down and tailored trousers, not to mention the extensive cyberware that rose from the top of his collar, he stood in contrast to the colorful and eclectic denizens of the market. He strode back across the pedestrian bridge, his sharp eyes trained on a yakitori cart.

“I have acquired some information,” he said. “Do you know who most wished to honor Arasaka-sama with the parade?”

V shook her head.

“His murderer. The irony makes me sick.”

“What does that get us?”

“I have had an idea.”

He laid out his plan. It was insane. It started with the pair of them hacking Hanako Arasaka’s parade float and ended with Takemura leaping onto it from a balcony. They settled onto stools at the cart to discuss the plan further. Takemura ordered portions for both of them.

V ate two of the grilled balls in quick succession while Takemura explained his plan to reprogram the float. He’d gotten an infected shard from Kabuki, which meant there was a decent chance it would actually work. This part of the plan, to sneak into the warehouse where the floats were stored and install the shard, V felt she might be able to pull off. About the rest of the plan, she was highly dubious. While Takemura made his way to the float, V would be responsible for dealing with any security overlooking the parade route.

“What is this?” Takemura exclaimed, tossing down the skewer. “It tastes of sawdust and plastic.”

“Wha’ ‘bout Oda?” V asked around a mouthful.

Hanako’s personal security would be on high alert during the parade. Goro seemed confident his former protégé wouldn’t harm him. V, having met the guy, wasn’t so sure. But, as Goro loved reminding her, this was a sounder plan than others she’d been involved with, including the Konpeki heist. They agreed to meet in two days’ time to recon the warehouse.

As Takemura departed, V sneaked the uneaten yakitori off his plate.

* * *

It was only the late afternoon by that point, so Lizzie’s was still pretty tame. Rita, the regular bouncer, hadn’t started her shift yet, so V entered after being vetted by a Mox she didn’t recognize. V was privately relieved. Rita was something of a style icon to V, and she didn’t want to let on that the bouncer’s vivid pink locks were the clincher in her own current hair color. It would be _deeply_ embarrassing if Rita found out.

V had always assumed that once you made it big you wouldn’t feel petty emotions like embarrassment or self-consciousness anymore. Then she remembered Jackie, who despite having close to zero rep when they’d first met had never once felt embarrassed or self-conscious. She smiled, a little heartsick, at the thought.

She pushed past the double doors and the curtains strung with glittering plastic disks and the neon-striped kiosk full of merchandise - behind which glowed a sign reading “Fuck to Death.” It was a favorite still op for tourists and posers. In the darkness of the bar, everything was cool blues and purples. A strip of pink lighting in the floor tacitly directed patrons to the main lounge. Music blared in odd contrast to the relative emptiness of the room. A few patrons eyed her self-consciously, but the joytoys were quick to cycle them to the private booths in the back. No one went to Lizzie’s at 5 pm on a weekday because they were looking to enjoy the ambience. A posergang – all sporting identical pompadour haircuts and symmetrical fashionware along their jaws – laughed raucously from a booth in the corner. V rolled her eyes.

Once inside, V settled herself at the bar and ordered a lemonade from Mateo. His eyebrows flicked up at the order, but he didn’t say anything, realizing she obviously wasn’t planning to stay long. V pulled her Agent out of her pocket.

> V
> 
> I’m here.
> 
> JUDY
> 
> Almost done. Be up in a sec.

She sipped the drink and made small talk with Mateo. She was the only one at the bar, so he could stay and chat for a minute.

“Hey, when do you get off?” a male voice said behind her. V glanced back over her shoulder. The gonk from the posergang was young and stupid, probably puffed up from his first time in a place like this.

“Don’t work here,” she growled, turning back to her drink. Mateo flicked fingertips toward a Mox who was leaning against the doors that led to the back. Shifting to her toes, the Mox slinked toward them. The poser didn’t notice, too intent on his target.

“Good news for me,” he said as he climbed onto the stool next to her and leaned on one elbow. His friends tittered from the corner. V felt his breath, hot and reeking of booze, on her neck. “Means you can get off right now.”

A whisper of brushed aluminum accompanied a baseball bat sliding past his shoulder. He did notice that.

“Out,” said the Mox. “Now.”

His eyes went wide. Truly stupid. His cocky demeanor instantly changed to one of feigned innocence, but the Mox was having none of it. She ushered him out of the bar via a side exit. He would not be feeling good the next morning. V smiled.

As V was watching them leave, Judy entered from the opposite side of the room. She was wearing her customary overalls and a tank that showed off her rose-themed gothic tattoos. She was carrying a canvas bag messenger-style. “Hey, V,” she greeted. “What was that all about?”

“Just a gonk,” V said. “You ready to go?”

“Yep.”

V stood and tossed Mateo an extra tip.

“Ah, your hair looks so good!” Judy exclaimed, reaching up to twirl the end of V’s braid with her fingertips. “But why are you dressed like a bank clerk?”

“Needed to look respectable for a gig,” V explained. “Eh, I’m not sure about the hair, though. Can already see my roots.”

“Embrace it!” enthused Judy, whose own dark roots blended to green and then pink, long asymmetrical bangs falling in front of her eyes. She blew them out of her face. “All right, c’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

They left the club and headed toward V’s bike. The sun was sinking low in the sky, “You gonna tell me where we’re goin’?”

“Wanna take you to see Evie,” Judy replied.

V pulled up short. “Eh, not sure I’m up for that, Judy.”

“You should see her, V,” Judy insisted gently. “It’ll be good for you. Get some closure.”

“Fine,” she relented against her instincts. “Fine. Let’s just make it quick, okay?”

* * *

The North Oak Columbarium was the nicest in the city. It was up on a hill overlooking the city and Del Coronado Bay beyond. One of the few places where trash and graffiti were never a problem, it was guarded by stringent Arasaka security. The last time V had visited had been months back when she’d come to see Jackie shortly after his _ofrenda_. Now a new urn was here. Evelyn Parker.

Judy had already visited before, steering V straight to the niche where Evelyn’s remains rested. The engraving read, “She died valiantly fighting the system.” V smiled. It was fitting.

She stood with Judy, linked arm in arm, for a long time, feeling the palpable sadness of her friend. Finally, with a farewell touch of fingertips against the marble, Judy turned away.

“Got one more thing to show you,” she said.

Riding tandem on V’s bike, Judy directed V to steer farther up the hill, winding their way up toward Rocky Ridge. Past the North Oaks sign, Judy told V to turn down a narrow access road. After traveling that way for a few minutes, she tapped V on the shoulder and pointed to a small overlook. V pulled the bike over.

“What is this place?”

“C’mon, you’ll see.”

The settled down on the far side of the guard rail, legs dangling off the rocks. Unlike verdant North Oak with its palm trees and manicured lawns, nothing grew up this high. The reddish soil was bare and crumbling. Hanging low in the west, the sun cast long shadows that reached toward them. They could see looking down the squat concrete shape of the Columbarium and, beyond, the city.

“I made us a picnic,” said Judy, pulling two bottles of beer out of her bag, followed by two plastic-wrapped sandwiches. Judy unwrapped her sandwich and chewed in silence for a while.

Finally, V asked, “What’s the occasion?”

Judy replied, “Do you see that cluster of four towers over there?” V followed the direction of her arm pointing toward the bay. There were four identical towers in a row right on the water’s edge. It looked like they were right next to the Clarendon Street bridge.

“Mhm.”

“Evie had a client who lived in one of them. He was a regular. She said he had the best view in the city, looking out over the water at sunset. Always said once she’d saved up enough she was gonna rent one of those apartments. I made sure her niche was facing those towers. If you line it up, you’ll see we’re sitting on the same line. So I can imagine her looking that way and dreaming.”

V had no words of comfort to offer. She circled an arm around Judy and squeezed. Judy looked up at her, wiping a tear from her eye.

“Thanks for coming, V.”

They toasted Evelyn’s memory and watched the sun set.

“Do you have anyone there?” asked Judy after some time had passed, nodding her head toward the Columbarium. “Besides your friend Jackie, I mean.”

“My mom.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. Tell me about her.”

Feeling wistful, V obliged. She told Judy about how her mom had been a sysadmin for a small company. How she’d come to Night City alone in her twenties to make a name for herself. How she’d taught V to write daemons and encouraged her mischievous streak, even it if meant V got into trouble. How she would’ve liked Judy’s tattoos. How she’d been a great cook and always let V take a sip of her coffee at the breakfast table. How she’d died.

“You miss her,” said Judy gently.

V nodded.

“It’s hard, losing loved ones,” Judy continued. “But it’s worth the pain, having known them.” Misty had said something similar to V, just after Jackie died.

“Is it?” V asked softly, feeling as raw now as she had then. “I’m not so sure.”

It felt like she’d lost everyone she’d gotten close to. Maybe it was easier to just be alone. V said as much to Judy, who shook her head, long bangs falling over her eyes.

“Loneliness is a trap. The more you isolate yourself, the tighter it catches you, till you can’t even feel anymore. You’re just dead inside. At least if you hurt, you know you’re alive. “

V knew how much Evelyn’s death had hurt Judy. They’d both lost someone dear to them in the aftermath of Konpeki Plaza. Now they shared a grief that strangled, made you unable to speak for the ache of it. She thought about Judy’s words and what they must mean if in the depth of her sorrow she still felt that way.

They finished their beers in silence. The sun had dipped below the horizon.

“What about your dad? Was he in the picture?” asked Judy.

V shrugged. “He was in the picture, but he wasn’t around much. Always working.”

“What happened to him?”

“He shot himself.”

“Shit,” murmured Judy. “I’m…sorry. Where is he now?”

“Dunno,” V scoffed. “Dumpster somewhere, probably.”

“You didn’t get him a niche with your mom?”

“Nope.” Her tone dripped venom. “He chose to leave. Didn’t deserve one.” At the time, she’d told the crematorium she didn’t care what they did with his remains.

Judy sat up, pushing herself away to glare V. “Is that how you feel about Evie? Why you didn’t want to come?” she accused. “She ‘chose to leave’, too, you know.”

“It’s different.”

“How? How is it different?”

“My dad was a slave to the corps, and that was the way he wanted it. Dedicated his whole life to climbing the corpo ladder. Fastened the chains himself. And when they burned him, like they _always_ do, he couldn’t handle it. He just…broke. It didn’t matter to him, that I—” her voice faltered. _That I needed him_. Words she couldn’t bring herself to say. “Evelyn…Evelyn was brave. She fought. Everything she did was to try and claw her way out of the system. The system was just too much for her,” she concluded quietly.

Judy blinked back tears. “I’m still so _angry_ at her,” she whispered.

There was nothing to say. V looked down at her feet, their outline faint against the rocks in the evening twilight.

“What about now? Would you buy him a niche now?” Judy asked

“I don’t know,” said V. It was the truth. “I was nineteen…and _pissed_. And scared. I tried to stick around, make it on my own, but…I just couldn’t. I sold everything and left. I was bitter for a long time.”

“But now you’re back.”

“Yep, now I’m back.”

Judy slipped a comforting arm around her. “I’m glad you’re back, V.”


	8. Spiraling out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a loss of faith and a family emergency, River risks his job at the NCPD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a prelude to the in-game quest "The Hunt," as told from River's perspective.
> 
> Side note: I enjoy writing River's POV way more than I thought I would :) Thank y'all for all the lovely support so far!

“Hey, Ward. Heard there was a new BD bar over on 26th that the gangers haven’t gotten to yet. Me, Brooks, Lopez, and some of the others’re headed there after shift. Gonna check it out. You in?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“C’mon, man! You been starin’ at that screen all day. Listen, I know the supes got you stuck on paperwork. You need to unwiiiiind a little.” He made suggestive movements in the air.

“You guys have fun.”

River hadn’t looked up from the computer where he was finishing up yet another form. It wasn’t a coincidence that this was the third offer for after-work fraternization River’d gotten today, making it the seventh this week alone.

“Hey, Kim! What’re you doin’ down in Homicide? Air up in NETSEC too thin?”

“Nah, just comin’ to talk to Ward about somethin’. Hey, Ward, my baby girl’s turning five on Saturday. Chiyu says you’re invited. She’s making this cream cake, got real, fresh oranges in it.”

“Can’t, sorry. Got plans.”

“What plans?”

“Ward’s got some top-secret personal life he doesn’t want any of us to know about. Either that, or he’s too good to hang with the likes of us. Isn’t that right, Ward?”

“Just been busy lately, is all.”

“Yeah, right. I’m sure all that backlog paperwork is _reeeeal_ urgent. Anyway, I’m on break. Not sure what I’m hangin’ around here for.”

“Hey, Ward,” Kim said, watching their fellow officer saunter away. “Got some news about that BD virus. Uh, bad news. By the time we got it, virus was too volatile. We had to nuke the shard. Sorry.”

“S’okay, Kim.”

Kim, perhaps realizing he would get as much response from a stone wall, faded into the hubbub of the Homicide department. River sighed. Kim was a bad liar.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that he’d been stuck on paperwork and had his overtime hours cut, now Sgt. Rivera, Lt. Adams, and whoever else had their nose it in were recruiting River’s coworkers to keep him in the fold. Starting from lunchtime all the way to the end of his shift he was suddenly getting invites from people he hadn’t spoken to in months, all crawling out of the woodwork desperate to spend time with him.

He’d seen the tactic before when an officer was showing signs of withdrawal. NCPD had a high attrition rate. It was a trick to make you feel like you were part of some big family. With other officers, this also might’ve also meant sending them out on dangerous missions, let them remember how violent Night City was, how everyone was out to zero pigs. River was too much of a wildcard, though. Detectives had to make contacts in the underground, talk to people from all walks of life, make nice, even cooperate with mercs and gangers from time to time. A homicide detective’s job was to make the bad guys work together to piece together a coherent sense of what had happened. Detectives didn’t see the line between cop and everyone else so clearly. So, they’d planted his ass in a chair. He couldn’t even get into the building or access the NCPD database after hours. They’d actually locked his cyberware so he couldn’t run scans when off-duty.

Was it better than being suspended or busted back to Admin? River couldn’t say. But even though it had only been a couple of weeks, his neck was chafing from the leash and collar they had him on.

Five o’clock finally crawled around – they had him on a regular 9-to-5, too, for the first time in years – and River closed his laptop and clocked out. He headed to the gym, and by the time he was done pummeling bags it was after dark. He jogged up the stairs to his apartment. There was a half-eaten container of lo mein in the fridge. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, flicked on the TV, ate cold noodles, and tried to shut off his brain.

The news reports were astir with the latest breaking case. He’d heard buzz about it from some officers up in Special Investigations. Apparently, there’d been a string of disappearances around the city, all teenage boys. They’d just found evidence of a connection between some of them, a serial kidnapper the media had nicknamed Peter Pan. No one had any idea who this Peter Pan was or where he lived, but the first reported victim had been from Heywood, so Heywood precinct got the case.

River turned off the TV. He was too restless. Shrugging on his jacket, he walked into the night air of the city. Damp slicked light poles and handrails. The clubs and bars were just warming up, with ravers lined up outside waiting for the velvet ropes to drop. He passed a junk electronics store that was still open. It gave him an idea.

Fifteen minutes and 50€$ later he was leaving the shop with a used laptop tucked under one arm. It was a piece of crap, probably, but he didn’t need major computing power. He’d made the proprietor boot the thing up before buying it, just in case, so he knew it ran.

Back in his apartment, River started typing out every detail of the Rhyne case he could remember. More importantly, he made a list of every cop or NCPD official who’d been tied to the Rhyne case and who’d worked with Weldon Holt. He pulled up old press conferences, noting anyone who’d attended. He downloaded any news article he could find about the case or about Holt’s actions in the weeks leading up to Rhyne’s death. By the time he’d drained his fifth glass of whiskey, he’d spilled enough of his mind into the digital that he could fall asleep.

He woke up the next morning to do it all again.

That evening, instead of heading straight to the gym, he’d gone to a ripperdoc he knew about in Robertek Market to overwrite the NCPD database stored in his cybernetic eye. The ripper had been puzzled as why he’d want to replace a legit scanner with an illegal copy, but standing to make a couple hundred eddies from the arrangement, she didn’t put up a fuss. River was glad he’d put some money away. After-hours detective work was getting expensive.

Gym, food, apartment. In the middle of combing through an especially purple news article about the tragedy of Rhyne’s death, his Agent rang. He saw the caller and frowned. It was his sister.

“Uh, Joss,” he answered hesitantly. “Everything okay?”

“Would I be calling if it was?” she retorted. She was still mad at him. Didn’t take a detective to figure that out.

“All right, just tell me what’s going on.”

“It’s Randy,” she said. He could’ve guessed. Kid was always in trouble. “He disappeared a couple nights ago. I thought he was just out late with friends, but he hasn’t come home. No call, no nothin’.”

“Gimme a sec.” Anyone looking at River would’ve seen the flash of red in his eye that accompanied a scan. Already putting his eddies to good use. He searched the latest arrest reports for Randy’s name and description.

“Well, he hasn’t been picked up,” River reassured her. “Probably just out with friends, like you said. I bet he’ll be home soon.”

“I don’t know what to do about him, River,” she sighed. There was a plea in her voice, asking a question for which there was no good answer. “I worry he’s gonna end up just like his father.”

“He’s a long way from that yet,” said River. He hoped it would make her feel better, even if he wasn’t sure he meant it.

There was a pause.

“Anyway,” she said curtly, collecting herself. The moment of weakness was over. “Let me know if you hear anything. Please?”

“Will do.”

The Agent clicked off as she hung up the call.

She must really be worried if she was calling him. In the past year, River hadn’t exactly been on speaking terms with his sister. It was mostly his fault, he supposed. Her husband had gotten himself killed a couple of years ago, and Joss had been left with three kids and no reliable income. Not that they’d had exactly steady income before, but he came into money every once and a while. Her husband’s death happened to be right around the same time when River’d caught a huge case – very high profile, all the superiors’ eyes had been on it. It was the kind of case that would take a team ten hours of work every day for a year to solve. There’d been thousands of tips to comb through. Then he’d been assigned to another similar case right after.

After the dozenth or so time he’d been unavailable when she’d needed help, she’d let him have it. It was the kind of fight that only close family can have, with decades of grievances boiling to the surface. They’d had a pretty shitty childhood growing up in the foster system, so there were a lot of grievances. Both had said some unforgivable things during that fight, and she made it clear he wasn’t welcome to come around anymore. They’d had a few terse phone calls, and she let him briefly see the kids at Christmas, but that was the extent of their contact.

Randy had never been an easy kid to deal with, but after his father’s death he’d grown even more rebellious. He was nearly seventeen now. Even though he was still a minor, River could see where he was headed. Back when he was a beat cop, he saw it often enough. There were some kids that were just always going to be trouble until they finally did something stupid enough where they’d get put away. Or flatlined.

Still, couldn’t be easy for Joss, especially with two younger ones to take care of, too. Maybe he should try to visit, see if he could patch things up. He missed the kids.

Too rattled from the phone call to keep working, he closed his laptop. His list of Weldon Holt’s associates on the NCPD had over two dozen names, and those were just ones that the press picked up on. He’d started looking into Holt’s business dealings to see where the money might’ve come from. It was well known that Holt was in Arasaka’s back pocket, but he’d been implicated in underhanded dealings with multiple corps, many with gang affiliations.

The whole business made him sick. He’d joined the NCPD in his early twenties after first aging out of the foster system and then holding down a string of low-paying, questionable jobs. The stability had appealed to him. He’d done well. Had a tough enough skin not to take things personally. Was good at talking to people. Pretty soon he’d developed an interest in case work, and once promoted, he’d thrown himself into the job. Solving a case scratched an itch that nothing else compared to.

Now, though? He was beginning to think it wasn’t worth it. Now he couldn’t even do his job. What was the point of getting leads and collecting evidence if the top brass would just slam the door in your face without so much as an acknowledgement?

It wasn’t that he’d been naïve. He’d known that corrupt, lazy, and incompetent cops outnumbered the decent ones. But he’d at least always been able to do his job before now.

River frustratedly rubbed his head and rocked to his feet. The close air of the apartment felt stifling. Grabbing his coat, he strode out to find whatever solace Night City could offer.

* * *

It was all over the news the next day. All anyone at the precinct could talk about. They’d caught Peter Pan.

He’d been IDed as one Anthony Harris. At a routine traffic stop, Harris was apprehended when an NCPD officer found one of his victims close to death in the passenger seat. Poor guy’d been pumped full of hormones and steroids. He’d be a long time in recovery.

Harris had tried to flee on foot and taken a bullet. Miraculously, he had survived. Less miraculously for the investigation, Harris was now comatose, so he couldn’t tell them where the other victims were being kept. The buzz was that they’d found the perp’s house and were currently searching it for leads.

Sitting at his desk, River watched the footage of the arrest.

“Fuck,” he said, a detail catching his eye. He rewound to an earlier frame and paused. “Fuck!” he roared, leaping to his feet. He punched the desk. The faux-wood tabletop cracked beneath the reinforced alloy of his cybernetic hand. He’d struck with enough force to short the touch sensors, so he didn’t feel a thing.

The screen was paused to the moment when Harris fled the vehicle. On the perp’s feet were a pair of vintage-style red-and-white kicks, and right there in plain sight was an Aldecaldos biker patch. It had belonged to Randy’s father. Those were Randy’s sneakers.

He stormed to the back of the floor where there was a row of offices for the sergeants and lieutenants. Swinging open the door to Rivera’s office, he demanded, “Who’s on the Peter Pan case?”

Rivera scowled at the interruption. Sensing River’s agitation, he hung up the call he was on and spun in his chair to face him. “All right, Ward. Calm down. What’s this about?”

“You gotta put me on the Peter Pan case,” River insisted.

“Special Investigations has that. Besides, you’re on paperwork duty for the next month at least.”

“Look, Rivera. I know we don’t see eye-to-eye, but the son-of-a-bitch took my nephew!”

“You know this how?”

River explained about how Randy was missing and how Harris had been wearing his shoes.

Rivera leaned forward onto his elbows, lacing his hands together and twiddling his thumbs.

“Sit down, Ward,” he said flatly.

“I am not gonna sit down!” River was shaking, pacing back and forth.

“All right,” the sergeant sighed. “You know damn well I can’t let you near that case. For one, as I mentioned, you are on paperwork duty. I had to argue for that, you know. Adams was gunning for your suspension. I had to talk her down. As a _favor_ to you.

“Two, SI has the case. There are no bodies yet, and even if there were, SI takes precedence—goddammit, stop pacing! You’re making my blood pressure go up.”

River stopped and leaned forward to grip the back of the empty chair facing the desk. His fists clenched, making the tendons of his hands stand out from his skin.

“And three,” Rivera concluded. “If Harris did snatch your nephew, it’s a conflict of interest. No way I could put you on the case—”

“Then at least let me see the files,” River cut in. “You can pull that—”

“No fuckin’ way. I do that and you’re liable to go after the guy on your own time. I know you, Ward.”

River hung his head, feigning defeat. “At least tell me who they’ve got on the case, so I can give them some more intel. Maybe get some updates.”

The sergeant sighed. “Gonaghal’s the lead.”

“ _Gonaghal!_ You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. That gonk—”

“Enough, Ward!” Rivera snapped. “You’ve gotta job to do just like the rest of us. Quit thinkin’ you’re better than everyone else, and do your fucking work. I do not want to see or hear from you. From here on out, I just wanna get files in my inbox. Got it?”

River muttered something inaudible and stalked out of the room.

* * *

There were times, such as this, when River wished he were a less conspicuous person.

Gonaghal had been of no use, of course. The gonk couldn’t find his own ass with both hands in his back pockets. He’d taken down some basic info about Randy from River but had territorially refused to offer up any information about the Peter Pan case. The precinct rumor mill had gone dry, which River took to mean they were getting nowhere with the investigation.

He hadn’t slept well the past couple of nights. The rumbling of the overpass made him grind his teeth every time a truck drove by. When not on duty, he’d driven to see the various crime scenes – the intersection where Harris was shot, Harris’s house, the house of the victim. All were wrapped up tight under constant NCPD surveillance. The publicly available info hadn’t been of any help either. River needed access to those case files if he was going to make any progress.

So, here he was, up on sixth in Special Investigations headed toward Gonaghal’s laptop, trying not to look suspicious. The day before, he’d jacked a keylogger that he’d swiped from NETSEC into Gonaghal’s computer. With any luck, Gonaghal - gonk that he was - hadn’t noticed, and River could retrieve the keylogger to get Gonaghal’s access code. He’d already noted Gonaghal’s shift schedule and when he went on break. He took his fifteen like clockwork no matter what he was doing. Meant River had a few minutes to jog upstairs, snatch the keylogger, and get back to his desk.

To access the case files, River would have to use an NCPD computer. Once he did, he started a countdown clock to being found out. Gonaghal might be a gonk but other SI detectives wouldn’t be. They’d’ve marked him hanging around their floor. NETSEC would trace the IP of the computer he used to login with Gonaghal’s info. He had two memory shards, one was a decoy and the other he planned to smuggle out of the NCPD with the Peter Pan case file copied to it.

Reaching Gonaghal’s laptop, he waited until the moment was clear and then checked. The keylogger was still there. He ejected and palmed it before continuing to the back of the floor. He dithered for a few minutes before nonchalantly walking back toward the stairwell via a different route. Nothing out of the ordinary here, he willed.

The hours until the end of his shift ticked by. He was waiting until the end of the day in the hopes that second and third shift wouldn’t catch the log in, and it wouldn’t be noticed until the morning. Then he retrieved Gonaghal’s access info and logged into the case files, quickly copying them over. The keylogger and decoy shard he hid in his desk, well enough to look like he was trying to hide them but not so well that they weren’t guaranteed to be found. Then, other shard tucked securely away, he headed out the door.

* * *

They had nothing on Harris. Fucking nothing. Not a single solid lead. He’d risked losing his job for absolutely nothing. River slammed the computer shut and threw his glass, shattering it against the opposite wall.

Dawn had come and gone. If the overpass above his apartment hadn’t blocked the light, the sun overhead would’ve shown it was midday. He hadn’t slept, instead reading the case files, and didn’t bother going to work. It was the first time in nearly fifteen years on the force that he’d been a no-show. Around half an hour into his shift, his Agent had started ringing. It was Sgt. Rivera. He’d ignored it. After a few more ignored calls, he’d started getting them from Lt. Adams herself. There was no point in checking his messages. It was obvious he’d been found out.

River calculated. It was the third day – no, fourth now that he’d been up all night – since Joss had called. He’d hoped against hope that it was just a coincidence, that she’d call and say Randy had come home. In his gut he knew it was never a coincidence. When Joss had called him, she’d said Randy had already been missing a couple of days.

Randy was running out of time.

Think it through, dammit, he berated himself. What could he do? What leads could he follow?

Joss and her kids lived out in a trailer park near Red Peaks, east of the city proper. Randy probably went into the city to hang around with his friends, but it seemed unlikely timing to be a coincidence. It was _never_ a coincidence. Was Harris baiting these kids somehow? Luring them? Made sense for a serial kidnapper.

Which meant he could try Joss’s place. See if there were any clues there that connected Randy to Harris, maybe indicated the location of wherever he was keeping his victims. Gonaghal certainly hadn’t followed up on that avenue.

But what he really needed was to get Harris into a room. Interrogate him. Bastard seemed like the type to collapse under interrogation, and River could be intimidating. If only he could ask Harris some questions, but how could you question a guy in a coma…

River’s eyes widened.

He had it. Fuck, he had it! Maybe there _was_ a way to get info out of Harris after all! He sprang to his feet. What would he need? The plan he was just starting to form would require breaking into a medical lab that the NCPD sub-contracted in the Glen, and he’d need help – someone who could edit BDs, read them for evidence.

There was only one person he could call.


	9. Chasing Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V agrees to help River track down his nephew’s kidnapper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This begins the quest "The Hunt." This storyline makes the most sense to me as told from V's perspective, so I think we'll be getting a few V-narrated chapters in a row...

> PANAM
> 
> Babe
> 
> BABE
> 
> BAAAABE
> 
> Ugh, I should have known better than to expect you to be awake at THREE IN THE AFTERNOON.
> 
> BABE
> 
> Call me. I’ve got an idea.
> 
> Fuck it, I will call you.

“Mmph,” complained V as she smothered the chirping Agent with a pillow. In her dreamy state, she thought that if this was what birds had been like, maybe it was good they’d died out. The incessant electronic device was her greatest nemesis. A close second was the laser beam of sunlight just starting to crest through the wide, narrow window at the rear of the apartment. V rolled over, vowing revenge upon them both. Not realizing she was sleeping sideways, she banged her foot into the wall.

The Agent started ringing. V picked it up and held it in front of her face, blinking to make the text of the screen come into focus. She answered.

“Ugh, what?” she groaned.

“I’ve had an idea,” said Panam over the line. Her voice crackled with energy. She was fired up about something.

“’Bout what?” V asked, shifting into a sitting position. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes with the back of her knuckles and yawned.

“It…would be better to talk in person,” the nomad hesitated. “Can you come by the camp?”

“This about Saul?”

Saul was the leader of the Aldecaldos, a nomad gang currently occupying a camp not far outside the city limits, still within the official territory of Night City. Panam was a free thinker and troublemaker. She’d been vocal about her opposition to some of Saul’s decisions lately, which had landed her in hot water. V thought that Panam was the type who somehow always landed in hot water. The woman was restless. She always had her eye to the horizon.

“You know me well.” Panam hesitated. “V, I could really use your help. And what I’ve devised, well, let’s just say I think you will like it.” There was a hint of mischief in her voice. She knew her audience. The mystery, the promise of trouble. V’s curiosity was piqued.

“Lemme see what I—hey, Panam? I’m getting another call. I’ll call you back, ‘kay?”

Frowning in confusion, V hung up the call with Panam and accepted the other call.

“Uh, River?” she answered. She couldn’t fathom why the detective was calling her.

“V, hey.” She knew from the first syllables something was wrong. River sounded exhausted but relieved that she’d answered. “I need your help.”

“Uh, yeah, sounds like it,” V replied. “What happened?”

“I shouldn’t talk about this on the holo. We gotta meet.”

“When and where? Tell me.”

“Glen, tonight. I’ll flick you the details. Will you make it?”

“I’ll, uh, do my best.”

“Thanks, V. Till then.” He hung up the call.

V dialed back Panam.

“Bad news?” Panam asked.

“Not sure,” said V. “Think so. Listen, I won’t be able to make it out today. This scheme you’re hatching – it got an expiration date?”

“Day after tomorrow,” Panam affirmed. “Do you think you’ll be able to make it?”

“I’ll definitely try. Update you later.”

“See you, V.”

V climbed out of bed. It was built into an alcove of her small apartment. Shuffling a few steps to the kitchenette, she flipped on the cranky old coffee pot that was the only cooking appliance she owned. It sputtered, complaining, but eventually squeezed out a cup of gritty sludge.

She sat on the couch, sipping coffee and letting the slanting afternoon sunlight warm her face. It had already been daylight when she went to bed, so she’d only had a few hours of sleep.

Her Agent pinged.

> RIVER WARD
> 
> Pacifica Blvd & Market St
> 
> 8 PM

V sighed, feeling stretched in too many directions. The matsuri festival was in a couple of weeks, meaning she and Takemura had to be prepared to implement their plan. Recon of the Arasaka warehouse where the parade floats were being built and stored had gone well. There were several weaknesses of the compound V would be able to exploit, but they would have to wait until closer to the parade date itself to actually infiltrate and reprogram Hanako’s float. If they moved too early, the virus could be detected and disabled by Arasaka security.

In the meantime, the Peralezes had offered her another job – this time to investigate a suspected security breach in their apartment. V was still working on that. Panam apparently had some new crazy idea, and Judy was getting worked up about something. Judy might tune porno BDs for a living, but the woman had a terrifyingly devious mind when she was motivated. V had a sinking suspicion that whatever was brewing was revenge for Evelyn’s death.

And now, River was calling with some emergency. V drained the last dregs of her coffee, grimacing. It was bitter and full of grounds. What could he want from her that he couldn’t bring to the NCPD?

She supposed she’d find out at 8 o’clock. In the meantime, she owed Vik a visit. He’d finally sourced a combat implant for her mantis blades, and it was ready to install. She’d only be able to pay half up front, but hopefully she could pay off the rest with a second payout from the Peralezes. Some merc she was, when only one of her current “jobs” would actually put food on the table.

V checked the time. There wouldn’t be a chance to come back to the apartment before meeting River, so she’d need to kit out her go-bag and bring it with her. After a quick shower, V donned a cropped tee with the words “Night City” emblazoned across a design of palm trees and the waterfront, purple slim-fit leggings, her shoulder holster, and a turquoise-and-magenta windbreaker to hide it. Deciding she’d leave her bike in the garage and take the metro, she opted for white high-top kicks. She threw her black armored moto jacket in her go-bag just in case, plus an extra change of tee, socks, and underwear for good measure. Throwing on a pair of mirrored aviators, she was out the door.

* * *

“Okay, step over here. I’m going to run a combat simulation. Don’t want you slicing up any of my equipment.”

Vik motioned her to the dimly-lit back of his clinic, where old shipping crates were stacked against bare concrete walls that beaded with condensation. V moved into place, flexing her forearms and rolling her neck. She jogged in place, shifting her weight from side to side, to wake up her muscles. Vik had just finished installing the implant, and there was still a fuzzy numbness at the base of her skill while the implant adjusted to its new home under her skin.

“Remember, it’ll feel weird at first. Like someone else is trying to control your body.”

“Like cyberpsychosis, you mean,” V countered.

“Yeah, not far off. The trick is you’ve got to surrender to it. You don’t have the instincts, the chip does. Try and override them now – well, you’ll probably just get a headache. In combat, the difference in response time is enough to get you killed. Got it?”

“Yep.”

He handed her a shard, which she slotted into the neural link on the side of her neck. Her own vision faded as the shard replaced it with the training environment. The virtual instructor ran her through a series of basic movements, and then the program generated a combatant.

He was a big, muscular guy with a squared off haircut. V could see the sweat droplets on his skin and hear the soft padding of his feet on the mat as he advanced. When he attacked, her mind believed it was real.

It was a disorienting sensation, like she had two bodies overlapping one another in the same physical space. One body tried to cower and move out of the way, while the other unsheathed her mantis blades, parried, and struck for the vulnerable, fleshy part of his abdomen. Pulled in two directions, V felt nauseous.

“Let it take over,” called Vik from some remote place and time.

The combatant reset, suddenly disappearing from where he lay on the ground at her feet and reappearing at the other side of the room. He attacked again.

The second time it was easier to surrender her brain to the implant. Vik made her run through the exercises a dozen times before he was satisfied she was getting the hang of it.

“The more you practice, the easier it’ll be,” he advised. “I’m loaning you that shard so you can practice on your own, but I’ll need it back at some point.”

“Thanks, Vik. And for only takin’ half now. I appreciate it.”

“My pleasure, if it’ll keep you alive.” He was sitting on his rolling stool looking up at her. “Which reminds me, V. Somethin’ I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.

“Look,” Vik continued. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just gonna come out with it – this is the last voluntary piece of hardware I’m willing to give you. You get your foot blown off or somethin’, we’ll talk. But you need to be careful. As some point, you stop replacing body parts and start trying to replace your humanity. You and I both know where that leads.”

“Thought cyberpsychosis only happened to those with _preexisting psychotic tendencies_ ,” V said defensively. “You sayin’ that’s what I got?”

He shook his head. “What I’m sayin’ is you’ve had a rough time lately. Lost people who were close to you. Been close to death on my table multiple times, and I know I only know a fraction of the shit you get into. The cybernetics you’ve already got will do their job of keepin’ you alive, ‘specially now you’ve got that implant. Any more, and I worry it’ll turn into a coping mechanism. Give you an excuse to disconnect from reality.”

“Ripperdocs got a code of ethics all of a sudden?” V demanded. “Thought you were in it for the eddies. If I wanted a lecture, I could go to the med center, or even a mall kiosk.”

“I’m your friend, V,” he said gently. “Just tryin’ to look out for you. There’s not many of my patients in your line of work that I see for long. Jackie was one of the longest, and I couldn’t do anything for him. I _am_ doing what I can for you. From where I sit, you flatlining because of a ganger’s bullet or spiraling out of control because you’ve lost all attachment to this world – well, they look just the same to me.”

V crossed her arms and looked at the ground, chastised. She’d been unfair.

“Yeah, I know, Vik. I know you’re just lookin’ out for me. I’ll…think about what you said.”

“That’s all I’m askin’.”

* * *

It was in a thoughtful mood that V exited the Metro: Glen North stop and walked the few blocks to the intersection of Market and Pacifica. She was running late. River’s Thorton pickup was idling in a loading zone. She opened the door, tossed her duffel, and then climbed in.

“You okay? You look awful,” she blurted. She hadn’t meant for that to be the first thing she said, but she was so shocked that it had just slipped out. River looked like a shadow version of himself, drained of all emotion. The hollows under his eyes couldn’t be chalked up to the dim twilight of evening. He was unshaved and wore a grim expression, his ‘ganic eye glittering and looking far away.

“I’ve…been better.” His mind was clearly somewhere else. “Prolly not hard to tell.”

There was no point in making small talk, so V jumped right to business. “What happened?” she asked.

“Take a look,” he said, fishing a shard out of his jacket pocket and handing it over. She slotted it into her neck. Overlaid on her vision was a broadcast from WNS News.

“This isn’t more dead politicians, is it?”

“Just watch it.”

The news anchor was talking about some guy called Peter Pan, who’d just been arrested for a string of kidnappings. There was dash cam footage of Peter Pan – whose real name was Anthony Harris – getting shot by an NCPD officer as he tried to flee. There’d been a victim in the car, a 17-year-old kid who’d eventually died several days later in the hospital from septic shock as a result of organ failure from overdosing on hormones, steroids, and stims.

“This one of your cases?” asked V, as the news anchor described how Anthony Harris was still comatose.

“Didn’t cross my desk.”

The clip finished. V ejected the shard and handed it back to River.

“So, what’s the problem if they caught the guy?”

River leaned back. “My nephew, Randy…disappeared not long past. And what you just saw – guy was wearin’ Randy’s shoes.”

“Oh, Jesus,” V exhaled. That would explain why River looked so exhausted. He’d probably been working and worrying nonstop. “Randy’s disappearance – know anything else?”

River shook his head. “My sister and I don’t get along that well…I don’t know much. He went missing about a week ago. She thought he’d just run away.” He paused, sliding his hands to grip the steering wheel. “Just wish I coulda been there when she needed it most.”

V resisted the impulse to pat him reassuringly on the shoulder, sensing River’s emotionless façade was the only thing staving off a breakdown. Any breach of that barrier might send it crumbling.

“And what, they figured you’d get emotional and kept you off the case?”

“More like a restraining order,” he growled. “Won’t let me anywhere near it. Gonaghal took the lead on it – a lazy-ass gonk. And so far he ain’t accomplished shit.”

“No way I’d let this lie if I were in your shoes.”

He nodded. “I know. That’s why I’m askin’ for your help.”

“You got a plan?”

“Can’t interrogate the guy ‘cause he’s a veg, but…we can view his dreams.”

V raised an eyebrow.

River must’ve noticed her skepticism. “It’s an experimental procedure,” he explained. “They record dreams that can be played back as BDs.”

It was theoretically possible, she supposed. A braindance recording captured all of the recorder’s thoughts and senses. She wasn’t sure how the virtu could display the dream’s visuals, since BD visuals were usually what the recorder was seeing, or if the dream would be intelligible to someone watching it. She really wasn’t sure what the point would be in an investigation like this.

“Got access to these dreams?”

“Not yet,” he replied. “But they keep them in the lab we’re headed to now.”

He pointed diagonally across the intersection. There was a building that had the name of some lab and NCPD insignias on the doors. The entrance was catty-corner to the intersection, and V could see that the lobby lights were turned off.

“You got an appointment?”

“Not exactly. We’ll go in together, but, uh…not through the main entrance.”

“So, you want me to klep a BD and then help you view it? Beginning to see why you called me.”

He nodded. “That a problem?”

“Usually try and avoid run-ins with the NCPD. Breaking into one of their offices isn’t exactly staying under the radar,” she mused.

“That’s why I’ll be coming with you,” River reassured her. “Anyhow, it’s not a precinct. Just a lab they subcon. We’ll find a back door and hustle in and out quick.”

She attempted a scan of the building while she absorbed this information, but it was just out of range. The left side of the building was decorated with billboards cycling ads. V couldn’t tell how far it was before there was an alley, her view blocked by buildings on the opposite side of the street. On the right side of the lab, where she had a better view, it looked like just past the building there was a turn-in, maybe for a parking garage. There’d be cams everywhere, but she didn’t mark any turrets.

“Will you help?” he asked, breaking the silence.

The desperation in his voice decided her. He was a man at the end of his rope, but she could reach down and offer him a hand.

She nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”

* * *

The left side of the building had led to an alley with a locked door she couldn’t disable, so V and River were now scoping the right side of the building. There was no alley here. The lab abutted a garage, which abutted a line of shops with apartments above them. The industrial garage doors were closed for after hours. Fortunately for them the garage’s owner had been cheap about security. V easily popped the tumbler lock with her techtool.

“Gimme a hand with this door,” she directed. Working together she and River lifted the door. Holding its weight at the balance point, he waved her inside and then slipped through behind, letting the door fall shut with a clang.

A slope led down to a small open air lot between the lab and the garage. The side entrance on the ground floor was beyond V’s capabilities to open, but there was a second floor fire escape with an accordioned emergency ladder secured at its edge.

“I’ll get up there and lower the ladder,” V said.

When River nodded agreement, she backed up a few paces, and then ran at the side of the building. Her cybernetic ankles gave her a boost as she pushed off the cinderblock wall with one foot, grabbing at the guard rail of the fire escape. Grunting with effort, she pulled herself up and hooked a foot to give her leverage. V climbed over the guard rail and undid the catch of the latter. It expanded, striking the concrete below with a metallic clatter.

River scaled the fire escape. On this story there was a similar door to downstairs, but there was also a window covered by a rolling metal shutter. The lock was easy to break.

“They’re having an audit today,” River advised as they prepared to sneak in through the window. “Should be a ghost town. No need to be quiet.”

Not taking any risks despite this intel, V took out her cyberdeck. Opening the shutter, she spied a security camera in the hallway. She prepped one daemon that would let her take over all cams in the build remotely, and a second daemon that would loop whatever the previous 10 seconds of the security cam had captured while it recorded. If there were people in the building, the looping would be obvious to anyone who reviewed the footage. If no one was in the building, as River said, it would be practically undetectable to the naked eye.

“Got about fifteen minutes before I need to reset the daemon,” she said. “Let’s hurry.”

She scrambled through the window, and River, considerably larger and also less practiced in second story work than she was, squeezed through after.

“How’d you know about the audit?” she asked, curious.

“I did my homework,” he shrugged.

The lab was all whites, grays, metal, and glass. There were some hallways that looked like they led to offices, with closed, solid doors. Other rooms were walled with glass. These had electronic workstations, exam chairs, and rows upon rows of filing cabinets. As they walked down the hallway, V could see through the narrow glass panes inset in some doors that they led to lab spaces.

“Know where they’re keepin’ the BD?” she asked, at a loss for where to start.

“It’s a research group that looks at autistic kids’ dreams. File should be in their lab space.”

They split up. V came upon a reception desk near the elevator and main stairwell. She sat down in the chair and started rummaging through the drawers. In short order, she found what she was looking for: a floor directory. Part way down the list, she saw:

> Braindance Technology in the Use of Pediatric Autism
> 
> PI: Dr. Yawen Packard, PhD
> 
> Lab techs: Bjorn Rosek, Suta Tomi, Gwen Flanigan
> 
> Room: 245a-b
> 
> Contact number: 11-760-483-2284

“Hey, River,” she called, spotting him turn down a nearby hallway. “Try room 245.”

“Got it.”

They found it quickly. It was attached to a larger lab full of electronic equipment. Room 245a was colorful, with bright flowery wallpaper and some toys and games for small children. There was a medical chair in the center of the room. Along one wall was a two-way mirror. It was turned off now, so V could see into room 245b, which was evidently used for observation of this room. On the opposite wall there were numerous file cabinets.

“This looks like it might be the place,” said River, pulling open a drawer. “Anthony Harris is the name we’re looking for.”

The files were organized by case number, rather than name, so River and V started with the last numbers, figuring those were the most recent.

“Say, uh, River?” V began as she flipped through a stack of files. “Why not just have a janitor crack a door for you?”

“Can’ risk getting scolded for sniffin’ around somebody else’s case-”

V jerked upright as a light came on outside the door. She reflexively reached for her pistol but kept her hand inside her jacket with the gun holstered. A woman in a lab coat entered the room. She had her eyes and full occipital plate replaced with cybernetics.

“Yawen!” River exclaimed.

“River?” she asked angrily. “What are you doing here? You got kicked off the force!”

“Just suspended, actually,” he retorted.

V took her hand off her gun and stepped sideways to look at River.

“What did she mean by that?” V asked River.

“He hasn’t told you?” Yawen was incredulous. River looked back and forth between the two of them.

V crossed her arms. So he’d lied to get her here, implying his NCPD affiliation would protect her from any blow-back. And she hadn’t questioned it. Just gone along because she knew he was desperate.

She should’ve known that desperate people will do anything.

“Yawen, please. Listen to me—”

“Aren’t you in enough trouble already?!”

“Harris _kidnapped_ my nephew.”

Yawen – Dr. Yawen Packard, V remembered from the directory – shook her head, hands on her hips. “I’m sorry, really I am, but we store evidence in this facility, and we have strict protocols.”

Despite being as pissed off with River as she was, V recognized the best way of getting out of this without the cops getting called was to stick with him. Maybe this Dr. Packard could help.

“This is a child’s life we’re talking about, here,” V reasoned.

Yawen shook her head. “This is an ongoing police investigation. Go, please.”

“Can’t leave without Harris’s files,” River challenged.

“I’ll say it one last time – OUT.”

“Dammit, Yawen, who the fuck do you think you are?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Remember your first med school exam?” It was a menacing question. “You know the one. Passed it with flying colors.” He slowly paced back and forth. “Gotta remember it. Ladies’ room erupted in flame. They evacuated everybody for two hours…”

She looked shocked. V was a little shocked herself. River didn’t seem like the type to resort to blackmail. “I cannot believe you would throw that in my face. I never wish to see you here again.”

They were squared off against one another now. Seeing River was unyielding, Yawen tried to reason with V.

“This man—” she pointed at him. “He only takes! He never gives anything back.”

“Hasn’t let me down yet,” V retorted.

Against their united front, she was defeated. River sensed the weakness.

“Harris’s dream BD – where is it?” The question was soft. Coaxing.

“He isn’t dreaming,” Yawen said. She turned to walk away.

“What? Why?” River followed the doctor, and V followed River. Yawen walked out into the main lab and then went into the room 245b. River and V filed in behind her. She pulled up a scan, presumably of Harris’s brain. There were scrolling lines next to the image that showed different vital signs.

“A bullet damaged his cerebral cortex,” Yawen said, pointing at the scan. She pulled up a different image, this one showing a heat map of Harris’s brain activity. They flashed erratically. We get only dissonant urges, pieces.”

V started to say that she wanted to see the recordings anyway, but River said first, “Try audio-visual stimulation.”

“But he isn’t on the spectrum,” Yawen protested.

“A favorite song or movie helps you reach the kids – might be worth a try,” he reasoned.

“I am aware of the similarity,” Yawen said. “Hypothalamus stimulation and hormone production. But Harris is not a child. I have never tried the procedure on an adult.”

“Any reason you haven’t?” V asked.

“Because, unlike River, I went to med school and studied neuroscience. And not by reading about it over someone’s shoulder on the metro.”

V had to admit, the woman had a point.

“Would you at least _try_ it?” River asked.

“We don’t even know his preferences!” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands.

“I’ll find somethin’,” River promised. “That mean you’re willin’ to try?”

She nodded. “Just…go. I’ll open the front door for you.”

“Let’s go, V. I know exactly where to start.” River was already out the door, striding toward the main stairwell near the reception desk. V followed.

* * *

From the beginning of this caper not quite half an hour ago until now, River had a dramatic shift in mood. He’d been hopeless, but now he marched across the pavement, heedless of pedestrian warnings, full of purpose. He knew what to do now.

V’s emotional shift had gone in a rather different direction. Back at his truck, she threw herself into the seat, slamming the door behind her.

River winced as she got in.

“Ok, lemme hear it…” He was pointedly not looking at her. He moved to turn on the engine.

“Don’t start the car yet. Haven’t decided if I’m coming with you.”

“You’re angry.”

 _Wow_ , great detective work, V thought.

“No shit. I’m not a cop, nor am I some perp you’re trying to manipulate into a confession. I don’t need your cop shit. I came here as a _favor_ to you, ‘cause I thought you needed help. And I can’t help you if I can’t trust you.”

“I didn’t _lie_ —” he protested.

“No,” she interrupted. “You just _insinuated_ that everything would be fine. That you were comin’ in with me for your NCPD presence. That the most you’d get was a slap on the wrist for stickin’ your nose in some other detective’s files. Like I said, _cop shit_.”

He looked down at the floor, both hands on the steering wheel, knowing he was beaten. “Look,” he started. “I—You’re right. I was only thinkin’ about what I—Fuck!” He hit the steering wheel with his palm, but he seemed more frustrated than angry, stumbling over his words.

When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “I’m sorry,” he said contritely. “Won’t happen again.”

She weighed whether to believe him. Her gut said he was sincerely sorry, but her gut had also led her to trust him earlier. However, on the Peralezes’ job, he _had_ gotten her to Vik’s. She’d have died without his help. And he’d stayed all night, even though he didn’t have to. She owed him a great deal for that.

V didn’t blame River for prioritizing his nephew over everything else. She’d do the same in his shoes. On the other hand, V wasn’t about to let River’s priorities get her killed. She made up her mind.

Somewhat mollified, she said, “Good. Because if it does – if I get even the slightest whiff you aren’t being straight up with me – I walk. Got it?”

River nodded.

“Is it true what Yawen said in there?” V asked. “You only take, and never give?”

He flinched.

“Yeah,” he finally admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his cybernetic hand. “Last few years, yeah, that’s pretty much been true.”

V eyed him. “That got anything to do with why you don’t get along with your sister?”

He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah,” he nodded. They appraised one another.

Finally, River broke the silence. “If you’re done scouring my character flaws…does that mean you’re coming with?”

“Didn’t say I was done scouring your character flaws,” she replied flippantly. “But I am coming with. Let’s go.”


	10. Codebreaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V rides with River to the trailer park to track down clues about Randy’s location.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Real world caught up with me. More soon. Thank you everyone for the views, comments, and kudos!

“So where are we headed?” asked V as the truck pulled onto an onramp going east toward Rancho Coronado. The sky was full dark. Behind them emanated the neon glow of Night City. The light from passing cars and streetlights glittered against the pavement.

“To Joss’s. Randy’s mom,” he explained. “She thinks he just ran away from home.”

“Why aren’t we tryna find Harris’s apartment?”

“It’s a house. NCPD are all over it. They’ve got nothing. He’s gotta be keeping his victims somewhere else.

“An’ besides,” he continued. “We _are_ trying. Wanna see if we can find some connection to Harris at Randy’s.”

“Mhm. Mhm. Plus, that whole lack of a warrant issue. Because, you know, you were kicked off the force. I understand. Wouldn’t want the NCPD to know you’re chasing their leads.”

He winced.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you lost your badge?” she pressed, switching from sarcasm to exasperation.

“I…don’t know.” River sighed. “It’s just, uh…” He gestured helplessly, as if struggling to find his words. “It’s not easy for me to talk about what’s bitin’ at my ass.”

V scowled, sinking into the passenger seat. She looked out the window, watching Rancho Coronado streak past as they left the city. She _hated_ when people weren’t straight with her. In her profession, that sort of shit ended up with someone zeroed. It was one of the reasons V almost never took jobs from independent clients. If they were too shady to go through a fixer, it meant they were trying to pull something over on you.

Of course, even fixers would sell you out without blinking if the price was high enough. V had personal experience with that.

“Okay,” said River, interrupting her thoughts. “My turn to ask a question. Why are you here?”

“You don’t remember askin’ me to be?” she replied flippantly.

“C’mon. You know what I mean – why’d you say yes?”

She thought about it. “Honestly?” V said. “You sounded like you really needed the help.”

It was a weakness of hers. At least among edgerunners, altruism was considered a weakness. You didn’t do anything without a guarantee of payment, either cash, tech, or a promise of future favors. There were strict rules about who could negotiate, who offered favors, an established exchange rate of compensation that scaled based on potential risk and reward.

V was unusual in that way. Sure most contracts she took were straightforward, but she’d also lend her services if they were needed. It might mean her reputation hadn’t grown to what it might have if she’d been more cutthroat, but it also meant she had a solid group of people – friends, really – that she could rely on. Vik. Judy. Misty. Mama Welles. Panam. And they could rely on her.

“That’s it?” River sounded surprised. “Just outta the goodness of your heart?”

She shrugged. “Guess so.”

“A merc with a heart of gold…those don’t last long in Night City.”

“Well, neither do good cops, so I guess we got that in common.”

She stole a glance at him, and despite the darkness, V saw the corner of River’s mouth turn up in a smile.

V turned her head back to look out the window, suppressing a smile of her own. A tension between them eased.

In silence, they streaked past the limits of the city proper. In the surroundings of Night City, more independent citizens lived on farms or in small communities off the grid. Nomad groups made temporary camps in the arid foothills between the city and the official borders of the integrate. Smuggler tunnels burrowed between Night City and unified NUSA beyond.

Struggling to compete with the light pollution coming from the city, stars winked into sight beyond the desert horizon.

“Tell me about Randy,” V prompted. “What kinda kid is he?”

“Petty theft, drugs, runnin’ away from home – that kind.”

“Cop uncle’s really see the best in you…” she observed cynically.

River sighed. “There’re people who always find their way into trouble. Randy’s one of ‘em.”

Like me, V thought, shaking her head.

“Randy’s mom, Joss – your sister, right? Randy’s dad in the picture?”

“Nope,” River answered. “Got popped a couple years ago. Gang war.”

“Great role model,” V commented.

“Joss was left alone with three.” He made a thoughtful sound. “But she’s as tough as weathered leather,” River added as an afterthought. It sounded like he approved.

They were well outside the city now. The truck passed through a tunnel that cut through the rising red hills of Rocky Ridge. Looking at the desiccated edges of the road that were illuminated by the headlights, V found it hard to believe that anything used to grow out here. Once this was all farmland, but the Collapse, radiation, and war had driven most farmers – who were now unable to grow food safely, if at all – out of business. You could still pass abandoned farmsteads, but many had been overtaken by the massive landfills where Night City tossed its garbage.

V didn’t often have reason to venture this far out of the city. She’d made a few trips out to the Aldecaldos to see Panam since Rogue had paired them up on a job. There was something about the desert that called to her blood, her mother’s blood. When she was a kid, her mother had shown her stills of her own childhood growing up at the western edge of the Sahara. The rolling dunes were very different from the hard, arid ground around Night City, she’d said. At night, if you walked on the dunes, your feet would sink up to your knees and you could still feel the warmth of the sun’s heat deep under the sand. V had always wanted to feel that for herself.

River interrupted her reverie. “Almost there,” he said, pointing to a turnoff some distance down the road.

“Do you think Yawen will actually help? She won’t rat you out to her superiors, will she?” It had been eating at V. The doctor had seemed openly hostile, despite her and River’s obvious history. V wondered as to the exact nature of that history. She pushed the thought away.

“Doubt it,” River said, unconcerned. “We used to be friends.” He paused. “Plus…not that I’d use it, but I do know one skeleton she’d prefer remain tucked in her closet.”

“ _Right_ , because intelligent, professional women always cooperate willingly when they’re being blackmailed.”

“I said I wouldn’t actually use it,” he protested.

“Yeah, but you told her you _would_ ,” V bantered, propping an arm against the window and tilting her head toward him. “Believe that’s the definition of blackmail.”

“Do I get no sympathy from you at all?”

“If you want sympathy, you should quit being such a leadhead.”

He chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “You’re brutal, know that?”

River turned off the highway, passing a dilapidated gas station and then taking a left into a small trailer park. V estimated around thirty families lived there, running electricity off generators and pumping water from wells. City utilities didn’t come out this far. He drove the truck down a makeshift main street. There were awnings and tables in front of trailers that during the day would serve as a market. They probably sold homemade wares and secondhand goods. A lot of folk who lived out here would scavenge from the landfill and repair anything of value to sell.

The kids would be schooled by the most educated adults who lived in the community. The older kids, the really bright ones, might bus in to one of the few suburban schools, but it was unlikely. For most kids in Night City, enterprising teens would be snatched up by gangs or left to fend for themselves on the streets if they weren’t trying to get a legitimate job to earn for their families.

It had been no small miracle V had finished high school. Despite her corp-climbing parents, V didn’t sound too much different than Randy at his age. She’d been smart and ambitious, though, staying clear of drugs and the dumb things kids did to experiment thinking they were emulating the gang lifestyle. Instead, she’d taken jobs where she could find them, making friends with thieves and netrunners and eagerly soaking up any lessons they’d offered. She’d gotten into a fair amount of trouble but less as her skills improved, and she’d had a decent amount of luck, as well.

Other kids she’d known – kids like Randy – hadn’t been as lucky. Night City ate its young.

* * *

River parked the truck at the edge of a patch of dirt that served as a yard between two trailers set perpendicular to one another, one straight ahead of them and the other to their right. To the left was the metal-and-wire fence that surrounded the trailer park. In the yard there was some sun-bleached patio furniture and the discarded toys of children dropped spontaneously at the end of playtime.

“All right,” River said. “This is it.” He didn’t immediately get out of the vehicle, instead gripping the steering wheel. He seemed to be bracing for something. “Sure been a while,” he commented. “Used to come over every weekend…long time ago.”

With a resigned sigh, he opened the door, and V followed suit.

“Changed much at all since then?” she asked.

“Places like this never change.”

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, V followed River into the trailer at the far end of the yard, which sat on a raised foundation that doubled as a front porch. The first things she noticed inside the trailer were the obvious signs of children. Doodles were tacked up on all the walls, and there were even scrawls on the walls themselves. A cluster of toys – intentional and makeshift – cluttered the entry, which led to a dining table with a booth that curved along two walls. A woman stood in the far back of the trailer, which was the kitchen, presumably Joss.

She was lighter-skinned than her brother, but she shared his height and striking bone structure. Joss turned, hearing the door open and realizing her visitors were unexpected. Seeing River, she stood defiantly with her hands on her hips.

“You either got business with me or news ‘bout my Randy,” she declared. “Wouldn’t drag your butt out here if you didn’t.”

V decided to hang back and let the siblings settle their differences on their own. She moved to set her bag on a nearby chair and then thought better of it.

“Joss—meet V,” River said, deflecting.

She tilted her head to look at V, a terse greeting. “So, V – is this about my Randy?”

V arched an eyebrow at River. Her look told him, _I’m not touching this one._

Realizing he wouldn’t squirm his way out of the conversation, River said, “Joss, I—I don’t know how to say this, but Randy…was abducted.”

Joss raised a hand to her mouth in shock. “Wh-why didn’t you call?!”

“Joss, I—I…” River stammered.

“Threw a blanket over the truth! Like always!” Joss exclaimed, cutting him off.

He’d looked tired before, but River looked defeated now. V saw a man who was pushing himself to the limit. He could act when he had a clear objective – and she’d seen how dogged he was in his action – but the emotional baggage was too much for him to handle.

V supposed it was time to come to his rescue.

“Joss,” she said in her best _I get shit done_ voice, the one she reserved for convincing fixers to hire her, “the cops caught the guy who did it, but he’s in a coma. The NCPD don’t have any leads on where he might be hiding his victims, but we have good reason to think they’re still alive.” A hopeful embellishment of the truth. “We’re hoping we might find some connection that Randy had with him, something that might lead us to his location.”

V looked at River and made a subtle gesture of encouragement. He looked relieved to have a direction, finding his words at last.

“We need to look through Randy’s things,” he said. “Find any lead we can. Trust me, Joss.”

“Just don’t destroy anything,” she said wearily as she came to terms with the news. “Randy doesn’t like it when anyone pokes through his stuff…” She trailed off, burying her face in her hands. Joss took a few deep breaths, and then, straightening, said, “The kids’re playing outside. Tell ‘em it’s time to eat.”

River gave V’s arm a light squeeze has he passed her, a tacit thank you. She followed him back into the yard, leaving Joss alone to cope. She was strong, like River’d said. V could see it in her.

Stepping foot into the yard, River and V were accosted by two children – a boy and a girl. V didn’t spend a lot of time around kids, so she eyed them cautiously. She guessed they were both under ten. “Uncle River!” they shouted in greeting, running up to him.

“Monique. Dorian.” He greeted them affectionately. “Hey guys.” They swarmed him for a hug.

The girl, Monique, pulled away and looked at V. “Is this your girlfriend?” she asked in the sincerely curious way of children.

He chuckled. “Uh, no. Just a friend.”

They followed at his heels as River led them to the adjacent trailer.

“You gonna stay over?” called Dorian, who struggled to keep up with his uncle’s long strides.

“We’ll see,” said River over his shoulder. “Your mom’s waiting for you with dinner.”

The kids slowed, obviously wanting to keep following their uncle. Ae surprise visit must mean something exciting. They recognized the command, however, and reluctantly turned back to the trailer.

Randy’s trailer was a mess, littered with trash and clutter. It was a smaller trailer, with a combination living room/kitchenette at one end and a bedroom at the other, separated by a tiny bathroom and the only entrance. River explained this was the family’s old home, before he’d bought them a new trailer. After that, Randy had moved in here, presumably desiring privacy like any teenager. The trailer still bore signs of the family’s residence, like the tick marks on one wall that marked the kids’ height as they’d grown. Flicking on a light, River instructed her to take a look in the bedroom while he took the living area.

The small bedroom had a twin bed pushed into one corner. Band posters plastered the right-hand wall above the bed, mostly of a metal group called Tainted Overlord. V thought the name sounded familiar. There was a bedside table next to the bed, an old-fashioned piece of furniture. The top drawer was locked. There was a small window in the middle of the wall, and to the left was a table in the corner with shelves hung on the wall. Both table and shelves were scattered with photos and knick-knacks. Finally, on the same wall as the door, Randy had a desk. The top was suspiciously empty, with only a few random pieces of paper and food wrappers.

V took in the scene with a sweeping glance. She called to River to keep an eye out for a matching key for the bedside table, and then moved to investigate the most obvious hiding place for a teenage boy – under the mattress.

There were a few nudie magazines under the mattress, but through the slats of the bed, V could see objects underneath. She pushed aside an opened box of condoms and what was clearly a stash of stale weed and dragged out a heavy laptop. It was a hefty piece of tech, with a heavy-duty protective case like the military would use. Wasn’t military issue, though. She sat on the bed, turning it over to examine the model number.

“Hey, River,” she called. “Come look at this. Got some expensive tech here. Randy have the scratch for this?”

“You’re joking,” he said in disbelief as he came into the room.

V opened the laptop and pressed the power switch. She was prompted to enter the password.

“You can crack this, right?” River asked.

“Wanna be careful,” V cautioned. “Most password crackers just pull from the keylogger. But,” she contradicted, “I recognize this line. Microtech did a limited release of the series – the PCXtra – a few years back. It was a test-run before they dropped the PCXtreme. If I’m remembering correctly, it was advertised as high-security…”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning it wouldn’t log keystrokes, for one. And for two, if I try and brute force the password, it might trigger a memory wipe after too many failed attempts. Some of the models did, but I’m not sure about this one. Lemme make a call.”

She dialed Judy – the one person V was confident would have the answers off the top of her head – on her Agent. Her friend picked up after a few rings.

“Hey, V, what’s up?”

“Sorry to bug you at work, but I’ve got a piece of tech here. Need some info, stat.”

“Yeah, sure. Gimme just ooooone sec to close this out.” A pause. “There. Whatcha got?”

“Let me patch you into optics.” She plugged the jack from her left wrist into the Agent, connecting it to her ocular implant.

“Who’s the guy?” Judy asked, as V’s vision raked over River on the other side of the room.

“Helpin’ him track someone down,” she replied noncommittally. “Here, take a look at this. Need to know if I can run a daemon on the password.”

“Hm…” Judy considered. “Flip it over. Look at the serial.”

V complied.

“Microtech PCXtra. You’re in luck. That’s the SN-004 edition. One of the first ones they made, so they hadn’t fixed all the quirks. You’ll notice a casing around the jack port on the front?”

“Yep.”

“Yeah, just remove it, and plug into the port behind. That’ll disable the memory wipe.”

“Judy, you’re a treasure. I owe you a bottle next time I’m at Lizzie’s.”

“An expensive bottle. I’ll hold you to it.”

V hung up.

“Lizzie’s, as in the sex club?” River asked mildly.

V unhooked her tech tool. “My friend happens to work there.” She unscrewed the casing like Judy had instructed and pried it off with the flat end of the screwdriver.

“That’s, uh, an unusual combination of skills, then,” River quipped.

“She edits BDs,” V rolled her eyes. “Asshole,” she muttered under her breath. River chuckled.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked, gesturing to the laptop. V took out her cyberdeck and jacked it into the port. She booted up a daemon that would attempt to decode the password. V explained what she was doing while she worked.

“Couldn’t that take a while?” River asked.

“Well, I plan to help it along with a little extra processing power,” V said. “But if you find any clues as to his password lying around, I’ll enter those manually. The program can try different variations – you know swapping letters for numbers and that sort of thing.” She pulled the jack from her wrist and plugged it into the cyberdeck. “And, uh,” she added. “Could get a little hot. If I pass out, there’s a syringe of coolant in my bag. It goes here.” She pointed to a round opening above one of the ports in the side of her neck. “Use it _before_ you unplug me. I’d rather not get brain damage.”

River blinked, digesting the information, and then nodded. He moved to continue looking through the trailer. V shifted so that the laptop was set up on Randy’s desk, and she sat in the rolling chair in front of it. The cyberdeck spooled up, and she immediately started to feel her neural ports warm as her internal processors paired with the cyberdeck’s.

“Hey,” he called from the other room. “Looks like the key to that dresser.”

“Great,” V muttered. She’d already broken out into a sweat. She felt like she’d just taken a long bath in very hot water. The temperature readout that was now in front of her vision read 38°C.

She watched as he walked back into the bedroom and fitted the key to the lock. Inside was a video game with a shipping code on it. River tracked its location to an area southeast of the city, somewhere in the Badlands. It didn’t narrow down their search much, if it was even Harris who had mailed him the game.

V stripped off her windbreaker. Sweat was beading at her temples and droplets ran down the side of her neck. She felt dizzy. The temperature was 39°C and climbing. At 42°C she’d start to take brain damage. She’d probably lose consciousness before then.

“River, I need some ice. Cold water. Something,” she said.

Hearing her serious tone, he snapped into action. “Yeah, sure. Be right back.”

He strode out of the trailer. 40°C.

Only a few seconds later, V heard the trailer door open. Instead of River’s booted footsteps, however, she heard the light padding of a child’s. Monique peered into the room, eyes wide.

“Thought you were supposed to be at dinner,” V said, trying to sound natural.

Monique stuck out her tongue and grimaced. “Mom’s making _noooodles_.”

“Don’t like ‘em, huh?”

Monique shook her head. “Your hair is pretty,” she said, abruptly switching topics.

“Thanks.”

“Can I braid it?”

“Not right now, okay?”

“Okay.” She plopped down on Randy’s bed. “Hey, that’s Randy’s laptop! We’re not supposed to—” She clamped her hands over her mouth before she could finish the sentence, looking terrified at what she’d almost said.

“You’re not supposed to tell anyone he has it, are you?” V asked gently. She blinked. The room was starting to spin.

Dejected, Monique shook her head. “He said he’d beat us up if we told anyone,” she said quietly.

“I understand,” said V. “But your uncle and I are trying to help Randy.”

“And the laptop will help?”

“We hope so. Do you remember when Randy got it?”

Monique nodded. “It was a birthday present.”

“Do you know who gave it to him?” V’s vision blurred. She gripped the sides of the chair for balance.

Monique shook her head.

The door to the trailer slid open once again, and River strode into the room, carrying several bags of frozen soya vegetables and bottles of cold water dripping condensation. V administered the bags to the back of her neck and her left wrist, and then drained one of the bottles of water. The temperature had stopped going up, which was good.

“Thanks,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

River admonished Monique and sent her scurrying back to the main trailer where dinner was getting cold.

“She wasn’t bugging you, was she?”

“Nah, she’s fine.” V said. “Don’t spend much time around kids is all.”

With V’s temperature stabilized, River began to scour the room for anything that might be Randy’s password. There was a still of him with his ex-girlfriend Natalie on a shelf. No luck. There was an Aldecaldos jacket that had belonged to his dad. None of the words or variants worked.

“Can I ask why you don’t have an integrated cyberdeck?” River queried. “Got more processing power, right?”

“I hate ice baths,” V said, only half-joking. Netrunners often had to submerge themselves in ice water while 'running to prevent overheating like V was experiencing now. “But, yeah, you’re right. The processing power’s way better. I’ve just seen one too many flatline from Black ICE. It’s…not a good way to go.” Despite the heat, she shuddered at the memories.

“This,” she held up the cyberdeck and waggled it at him, “will sacrifice itself before it lets anything hit my system. If I’m gonna go down, I’d rather see whatever gets me coming.”

River nodded. What could he say?

He began searching the rest of the apartment for signs of the password. In the hall there was a stack of records, most by the same band, Tainted Overlord, as the posters on the walls. V chugged the second bottle of water and started scanning the titles of the tracks.

“His favorite band,” River recollected. “I used to buy him a new album each year for his birthday.”

The cyberdeck blinked, and within a second, the laptop booted to the main screen.

“We got a hit!” exclaimed V. She unplugged her neural jack first, followed by the cyberdeck. “Liberum Arbitrium, this track title, except the I’s were all ones.”

“Let me see.”

V was happy to shift out of the seat and collapse on the bed, fanning herself. Her shirt was soaked through. Damp hair clung to her neck and forehead.

“There’s hundreds of messages from Harris here,” River said as he scrolled through the files on Randy’s laptop. “Fuck. He’s been baiting Randy for weeks. Guy’s obviously done it before.

“There’s messages missing,” he said as he continued to read. “Harris told Randy to erase them, where they were supposed to meet up. There’s no way…Randy was excited to meet the guy. Dammit! The message would’ve had the location!”

“When’s Randy’s birthday?”

“Uh…would’ve been less than a month ago. Why?”

“Monique said he got the laptop as a birthday present. I’m guessing Harris sent it to him so he could keep whatever they were talking about secret.”

“Good call.” He scrolled through the messages. “Yeah, just after that he links to a website. Something called Drugs Are Bad. Can you come take a look at this? See if I’m missing somethin’?”

V pushed herself up and sat in the chair that River vacated. She was still lightheaded. He leaned around her, one arm on the back of the chair and one on the desk, so that his face was level with hers. The suede fabric of his jacket fell forward to brush the bare skin on the back of her arm. She could smell his cologne, which was subtle, but earthy and spicy, like pine needles and black pepper. It was…distracting.

She told herself to get a grip and clicked through the website. It was just a generic drug rehab site. There wasn’t much there. Why would Randy need to hide this?

V pulled up Randy’s messages again and did a search for the web address. Randy had sent it to Natalie, with instructions to click a hidden link behind one of the web images. Natalie had found it disturbing.

Following the directions, V found the hidden website.

“Tony’s Shelter,” she mused. Tony, as in Anthony, as in Harris. “This must be it.”

“Harris told Randy to look at a video on the website. Can you find it?”

She shook her head. “Looks like the file’s been taken down. Just a placeholder file name there now. But give me a sec…” She quickly searched the files on the laptop using that name and found a match. “He downloaded it.”

“Play it.”

The screen began to play a disturbing cartoon in old rubber hose animation. There was a farmer and a cow. The cow had tubes hooked up to its nose, which pumped something into it, while the farmer stood by grinning and slapping the cow’s rump at intervals.

“That’s pretty fucked up,” said V.

“This is it,” River said. “The trigger. Gotta be. Let me send to Yawen.” V transferred the file onto a spare shard, which River then sent to Yawen via his Agent. In the meantime, V tried to find the IP address from which Harris had sent the messages.

“Ah, dammit,” she sighed. “He’s using a VPN to route his IP address. Well, it was worth a shot.”

“It’s okay,” River said, suddenly full of energy. “Yawen said she’ll get back to us by morning. Aaand…that I’m a son of a bitch. And uh...Eh.” He trailed off. V could imagine what Yawen might be saying to him, and none of it was particularly pleasant. “C’mon, let’s grab a bite.”

* * *

The kids were squealing and fully of energy, unaware that anything might truly be wrong. It was a stark contrast to Joss, who sat on the booth seat poking idly at her plate of food with a fork. She almost didn’t notice them come in, but when she did, she fixed them with a look of desperate hopefulness that pained V to see.

On the short walk across the yard, River had cautioned her not to get Joss’s hopes up too much. V couldn’t imagine what it must be like to fear for the life of your child.

“We’re all done, Joss,” River said.

“We left some for you, Uncle River!” chirped Monique.

“Thanks, Monique.” He turned to V. “You want some?”

“Sure, thanks.”

River fixed her a plate of cold noodles and passed her a fork before making a plate of his own. V sat at the far end of the table, where the booth seat wrapped around toward the kitchen. River took the stool Monique had just vacated. She and Dorian were running around, teasing each other.

V took a bite. It wasn’t great, even by V’s low standards, but the rush of salt was a jolt to her brain. She must be dehydrated from sweating so much. She took a second bite. As she was chewing, she felt the light brush of fingertips across her forearm.

“Coooool,” whispered Dorian as he traced the silver filaments of her mantis blade implants. The synthskin plates – perfectly matched to her skintone, Vik had done a preem job there – still had nerve endings. It raised goosebumps along the rest of her arm. She paused mid-chew and flicked her eyes to River.

He noticed. And froze.

“Dorian,” he said warningly.

Swallowing the mouthful of food, V said, “No, it’s okay.” She collected herself. It went against all her instincts, but she forced her body to relax and turned her wrist over so Dorian could see the inside of her arm, too. River watched them closely.

“Do they _do_ anything?” Dorian asked, curious.

By this point, Joss had noticed what was happening. “Dorian,” she admonished. “It’s not polite to ask people about their implants.”

“I just like the way it looks,” V lied.

“It’s bedtime for you two, anyway,” Joss said, shooing them off toward the back of the trailer. The kids complained, but they eventually chased one another back to their bedrooms after waving goodnight to the grownups.

“Tell me you found something,” said Joss to no one in particular. V and River exchanged glances.

“Found a strong lead,” V confirmed. “Should know more in the morning.”

Joss pushed her plate of food away, barely touched. She fumbled in her pocket for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and placed them on the table in front of her.

“River,” she said. “Tell me, and be honest…will you find him?”

“Won’t give up until I do, Joss,” River replied. V believed in his bones he meant every word.

“River’s a helluvan investigator,” V affirmed.

Joss didn’t reply. She just fiddled with the lid of the cigarette box.

“Joss?” River asked. “You mind if V takes Randy’s trailer for the night?”

“No. Sure.”

“You’ll stay, right, V?”

“’Course I’ll stay.”

He looked relieved. “Great. Lemme get you some clean sheets.”

He stood up to walk to the back of the trailer, passing back by after half a minute with an armload of linens.

Joss fumbled a cigarette out of the pack. Her hands were shaking. She tried to flick the lighter, but it wouldn’t spark.

V reached over and gently took both cigarette and lighter from her. She lit the cigarette herself, the butt flaring briefly as she sucked in smoke. She’d quit years ago, but sometimes she still dreamed about that first rush of nicotine. V savored it for only a moment before exhaling and passing the cigarette back to Joss.

“Hang in there, Joss,” V said.

River’s sister took a long drag and leaned back, all energy drained from her body.

“Who are you?” Joss wondered with weary curiosity. “How do you know my brother? You’re not a cop, are you?”

“Most definitely not.” V winced as soon as she spoke. She probably shouldn’t have been so emphatic.

“Well, what do you do?”

V considered her answer. “Nothing appropriate for the family dinner table,” she finally said.

“You’re not in a gang, are you?”

V shook her head, recalling the Aldecaldos jacket that had belonged to Randy’s dad, Joss’s husband. River had told her he died in a gang war. She guessed Joss didn’t take kindly to gangoons. “No, I’m independent. Worked a job with your brother a few weeks back. I was hired by a third party…happened to be a case he was working.”

“What’s he paying you to be here?”

“Nothing, Joss. This is a favor between friends, is all. Not something you need to worry about.”

Joss didn’t look reassured, so V scrambled to change the subject.

“Must be hard, raising three kids by yourself,” she observed.

“Wasn’t any easier when my husband was around,” Joss replied bitterly. She told V about how her husband would leave for weeks at a time running jobs with the nomads. In V’s experience, nomad clans tended to be close-knit, but it would be pretty impossible to live, as Joss and her family did, at only the edge of that world. Either you were in or you were out. It sounded like Joss’s husband had chosen to be in, leaving the rest of his family behind. He’d died violently.

Randy had been a difficult kid, but after his dad’s death, he had closed himself off from Joss and his siblings. Whatever trouble could be found, even out here in the sticks, he’d gotten himself into. Once he’d been old enough to steal cars or hitch rides into the city, it had only gotten worse. His girlfriend Natalie had been a mollifying influence, but they’d broken up a few weeks ago, and Randy had barely spoken to any of them since. Putting things together, it didn’t seem surprising that Randy had been baited by Harris. From the messages she’d read, Harris was an expert at exploiting his victims’ insecurities.

It was a shitty situation all around.

Eventually, River came back in and told her everything was all set. She gave Joss a comforting squeeze on the shoulder before heading to bed. Once in Randy’s room, she stripped off her sweaty shirt and leggings and pulled on a spare tank and fresh pair of underwear that she kept in her bag.

The narrow bed was made with fresh sheets. One corner was turned down like in a hotel. V smiled at that. It was a nice touch. Then she slid under the covers and within seconds of her head hitting the pillow, she was dead to the world.


	11. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> V and River dig deeper into the case

Something hard prodded her arm.

V swatted it away and rolled into the pillow.

“V, wake up!”

The hard thing shook her shoulder.

She groaned. “Not. Done. Sleeping.”

“Yawen called!” River exclaimed. It worked, the cartoon! H-he’s dreamin’!”

V pushed herself into sitting position, pulling off the covers and swinging bare legs over the side of the bed. The tips of her toes brushed the ground. River was rummaging at something on the floor nearby. She rubbed her eyes. Something hard and plastic was abruptly thrust into her lap. She peered down. Her BD halo. River pressed a shard into her palm and then dragged the desk chair out, plunking down and flipping open the laptop.

“Slot it in,” he urged. “Jack into the computer. I wanna see it on the monitor.”

“Where’s my bag?”

“What? Right at your feet. C’mon, V!”

She blinked. Her bag came into focus. Bending over, she felt around its contents until she found was she was looking for. It was an inhaler. V flipped off the green cap and took a hit. A rush of energy jolted her brain out of its fog. The room came into sharp focus.

“What’s that?” River asked, irritated at the delay.

“Caffeifase. It’s a mild stimulant—over-the-counter—so you can quit scowling at me. I just need to wake up a little.” V slotted the memory shard into the halo and toggled it on. “Here,” she said, pulling the interface plug from her wrist and handing it to him. He jacked it in to the laptop, and V slipped on her BD wreath.

“Yawen sent three files, looks like,” V observed, selecting the first from the list.

She felt the initial disorienting sensation of merging with another person’s consciousness – or unconsciousness in this case, she supposed. Being in a dream was more distorted than a BD based on reality. Commercial braindances were edited so that all distracting thoughts from the wearer were removed to smooth out the experience for the viewer. When V examined an unedited BD, the thoughts were rawer and more intrusive. The dream recording was to an unedited BD as an unedited BD was to a mainstream, edited one. She had to concentrate to tune out the mental noise, and there was a sort of hazy ripple that obscured the edges of her vision.

Emotions were stronger, too. From her vantage point, V was in a child’s body. She felt an overwhelming sense of shame, paired with sullen anger. They – she was sitting across a table from a man who was talking to her – seemed to be in a school cafeteria. There was a Buck-a-Slice marquee on the wall behind the man, with a counter in front. She, or rather, Harris, was sitting on a hard plastic stool that was attached to the table by curved metal legs. She toyed with the food on a beige plastic tray.

V experienced all this in the matter of only the seconds it took to toggle from the first-person vantage to editing mode, where she was free to move around the scene. The adult, possibly a teacher, was chastising Harris for having killed a classmate’s turtle. Harris protested that the turtle had been sick, but the man countered that Harris had injected the turtle with human growth hormone, guessing that it was something Harris’s father had taught him. The conversation escalated to Harris swearing at the man, who threatened to tell the principal and Harris’s foster parents. V didn’t think that the man had referred to Harris’s foster father earlier. She wondered what had happened to his actual father. The man began escorting Harris out of the cafeteria.

As V looked around, she noticed details that didn’t make sense. Perfectly still children, all wearing identical clothes, sat at other tables, one of whom had a strange plastic bag over his head. The man’s glasses flickered between transparent and smoked lenses, and as he entered the hallway beyond the cafeteria, he morphed into a cow.

“See if you can see what the school is,” River instructed, ignoring the dream’s amorphousness. V startled at the sound of his voice. Her ears told her it was coming from somewhere in front of her, but of course, her eyes only saw the cafeteria. As she followed the man and Harris, they passed a memorial plaque on the wall. It was to a school shooting that had taken place in 2044.

“Wait, hold up,” said River. “Huh, I recognize this shooting…it was a case study back at the academy. Gimme a sec to check which school that was…” V paused the recording while he ran the search. “Laguna Bend,” he concluded. “Hmm…looks like the whole town got flooded in the fifties. Well, I guess we know the rough area where Harris lived.”

“Does that check out with the shipping code from the game?”

“Yeah, it does. There was a message saying the game was from Harris. He must’ve stayed in the area. Good catch.”

There wasn’t much else of note, aside from a cabinet full of trophies that further confirmed the location. The dream ended with Harris confronting the man-turned-cow in the hallway. The cow had a plastic bag over its head, just like one of the children in the cafeteria. Then the dream faded.

“Boot up the next one,” River said impatiently. He’d sniffed blood and wouldn’t give up until he was in at the kill. V just hoped the metaphor wasn’t too literal.

“Yeah, I’m on it,” she muttered, choosing the next dream.

Her senses reeled as she stared up into the blue-plastic-covered face of a cow. She felt affection for the animal, but it was overwhelmed with sadness and guilt.

“Tony!” a voice shouted behind her. “Where you gone, now? C’mere!”

V toggled into editing mode, where she could see Harris as a small child petting the cow in a barn stall. Behind him, across the breezeway, a tall man in rubber boots fiddled with dials on a machine – a bioscanner for checking the cow’s vitals, according to River. The whole barn was filled with similar machinery – there were consoles hooked up to rubber tubes, which attached to the strange blue bags over the cows’ heads. At the edge of her hearing, River commented that all the cows in the barn were sick.

The man’s face was indistinct. Everything else in the dream showed sharp detail. Harris must’ve known this place well.

Young Harris shuffled dejectedly toward the man, who turned around and backhanded him across the face with cold indifference. The casual nature of the abuse was blood-chilling. The man – Harris’s father, V guessed – shouted at Harris for not checking the cow’s medicine levels before leaving for school.

“Cow’s gonna die ‘cause of you,” Harris’s father snapped at the boy. “Gonna kill it like you killed your momma.”

“I-I’m sorry,” the boy stammered.

“Don’t apologize, just dial up her hormones.”

The limits of the BD’s recording forced V to track the boy as he moved slowly down the central aisle of the barn and turned right down a broad hallway. There were more machines. River said they were injectors for hormones and antibiotics, used to treat meat back when people actually ate meat from these kinds of farms. The idea turned V’s stomach.

Young Harris went down the side hallway and turned into a control room. The cartoon they’d downloaded from the website was blaring on a screen in the background. As he started to fiddle with the dials that controlled the livestock’s medication, the dream faded.

V didn’t see how the dream was particularly useful, other than for shedding light on Harris’s troubled past – anyone growing up with a father like that would be traumatized, and who knew how such trauma might manifest as an adult. Then, River pointed out that the drugs they’d been dosing the cows with were the same as those found in the system of Harris’s recovered victim – hormones, steroids, and stims. An MO stemming from Harris’s childhood abuse? V hoped not.

She spooled up the third and final dream.

As with the others, she started out inhabiting Harris’s body – now that of a grown man. The emotions of the other dreams had been strong, but these were _twisted_. Harris’s thoughts slithered in her brain, wrapping around her own thoughts like wet seaweed until they were her own. Self-loathing, disgust, anger, and _longing_ …

“I’m gonna be—”

She cut off abruptly, ripping the halo from her head and lunging forward. V was faintly away of her interface cable snapping back in place in her wrist. River must have unplugged it. She lurched blindly toward the bathroom, grasping for the door frame. Her knees landed with a painful thud on the cold laminate floor, and she emptied her stomach in the toilet.

When it was over, she sat back on her heels, turning to fall back against the shower. Involuntary tears leaked from the sides of her eyes.

“V, you okay?” River asked gently from the doorway.

“Yeah,” she grunted. “Just gimme a sec—”

When she opened her eyes, he wasn’t there. She stood shakily, and gripped the sink. Leaning forward, she turned on the tap and with cupped hands, rinsed her mouth out with tepid water. The feeling of nausea ebbed, and she moved to the doorway.

River was returning from the kitchen holding something in his hands. “You need some help?” he asked.

“Nah, I’ll be okay,” V said.

“Here, sit down.”

He herded her toward the bed, and after she sat down, he placed what he was holding – a cool, damp towel – across the back of her neck. The heat from her face receded.

“Thanks,” she said, sincerely.

He sat down on the rolling chair opposite her.

“V, what was that?”

She sighed, eyes closed. “His mind…River, I’ve never experienced—it was _sick_. Twisted. I couldn’t—” she trailed off.

He rubbed his hands over his face, looking like he wanted to say something but couldn’t think of the words. “Look, V,” he said at last. “If you don’t…”

He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

 _If you don’t want to go back in_ , he might have said, _you don’t have to_. It would have been an insincere offer, though. V knew he’d do anything to find his nephew.

“River, there’s no way I’m stopping now. Couldn’t leave Randy in that sicko’s clutches. I just need a minute.”

His face sagged, relieved.

“Here,” he said, leaning back. “Give me your feet.”

“What?”

“Your feet. Just…trust me.”

V skeptically stretched out her legs to bridge the divide between them. River caught each bare foot in his hands, and then massaged a point below the ball of the foot, beneath her big toes. “For nausea,” he explained. “My mom would’ve called this old medicine. Not sure if it actually works, or if it just takes your mind off things.”

“Feels nice, either way,” she observed, leaning her head back.

V relaxed into the massage. She sighed, realizing how tired she was. It wasn’t just too little sleep for the past few days. She’d been pushing her body too hard. When was the last time she’d had a real break? Until the business with Arasaka was finished, she suspected she wouldn’t get one. If she wasn’t on a job, she was training, and if she wasn’t training, she was plotting with Takemura. The parade was next week. One way or another, it be a culmination of a journey started six months ago.

“V,” said River. He stopped massaging but looked down at her feet in his hands. “Everything you’ve done already – w-when I asked for your help, I—I didn’t realize…” He was stumbling over his words. “What I’m tryna say,” he finally spoke, raising his eyes to look at her, “is thanks.”

She suddenly felt exposed, hyperaware that her legs were naked to the still air inside the trailer. Before, when she’d first woken up, it hadn’t occurred to her in the hubbub of activity to get dressed. Now she wished she had. This was a job. She needed to be on her guard, not let it slip down. Gently, she withdrew her feet, placing them on the ground. She leaned forward, meeting his gaze.

“You can thank me after we find Randy,” she said solemnly. A quiet, determined moment passed between them.

Feeling resolute, V was determined to re-enter the virtu. This time, she was mentally prepared for the shock of entering Harris’s mind. As quickly as she could, she toggled to editing mode and breathed a sigh of relief as she disconnected from his subjective experience.

The scene was a grim one. They were back in a barn, the same barn as from the previous dream, but this time Harris was a grown man. It was a recent memory. Instead of sick cows hooked up to the machinery, V saw the still bodies of teenage boys illuminated by sickly yellow light. Blue plastic masks connected to tubes obscured their faces. V swore in disgust. It was monstrous.

Harris walked from the control room to the center aisle of the barn, unhurriedly pursuing one of his victims who attempted to crawl to freedom. The details of the barn were even clearer than they had been from Harris’s childhood memory. River was able to identify models of machinery and the barn itself, as well as certification numbers from equipment inspection permits.

V was too horrified by the grim scene to have noticed those small details, but she did perceive the installation of heavy-duty security turrets in the barn. The control room had contained a terminal to control the machines, but no controls for the security turrets. V made a mental note that there must be another control deck elsewhere on the premises.

“Wait, you hearin’ what I’m hearin’?” River interjected. “Go back, just a few seconds.”

V scrolled back and replayed the footage, searching for any unusual audio signals. Over the sound of the machinery, she heard the distant whirring of rotary blades – an aerodyne – followed by two beeps.

“Trash barge,” River said, identifying the noise. “That’s the signal to dump. Has to be a landfill nearby…”

The BD followed Harris down the aisle toward the large industrial door that was open at the end of the barn. It was dark outside. They passed multiple victims, each in a stall hooked up to a machine. There were more stalls that sat empty. According to V’s optical scanner none of the boys were identifiable. River didn’t see Randy among them.

As Harris’s crawling victim approached the exit, Harris remotely switched the barn door to close. It lowered with dread-inducing slowness. The boy’s attempt to escape was futile. Harris grabbed at his victim, dragging him back. V watched, transfixed, as Harris stroked the boy’s face, promising to take good care of him.

“Pause it,” River commanded. “Look—see that? In the distance.”

V shifted to look through the closing barn door to the yard outside. Beyond, she could see the city. It was nighttime. The neon lights from advertisements illuminated the horizon. At this distance, they seemed to twinkle as they shifted from one image to another.

Between the yard and the city was what had caught River’s attention.

“Hey,” V exclaimed, realizing what he meant. “The illuminated towers…promoting the Us Cracks album that came out then. Colors changed every hour.”

The virtu faded as Harris recaptured his victim. River made her play the whole thing back twice more before he was satisfied. When she took off the wreath and her vision returned, River was already standing up from the computer, pacing back and forth across the room. She could tell by the red light in his optical implant that he was running some sort of scan or check, probably cross-referencing with the NCPD database or city records.

While he did that, she took the opportunity to pull on her leggings and shimmy into her bra, which she did with her back turned while keeping her shirt on. She put on socks and shoes, and and before shrugging on her windbreaker, she fastened her shoulder holster and pistol in position.

A fire safety inspection code, the illuminated towers, and the trash AV were enough for River to narrow the location down to a particular neighborhood of farms in City South. The age and model of the barn, manufactured by Petrochem, eliminated all others in the area. In only a few minutes, River had narrowed it down to a single location—Edgewood Farm.

“Gotta be our place.”

“So, we got it?” V asked, slinging her go bag over her shoulder.

“Just hope we didn’t fuck it up…C’mon, we gotta go.”

“Right behind you.”

Mere moments later, the engine of River’s pickup revved to life. They reversed out of the yard and sped out of the trailer park, past the gas station and swerving onto the main road. The fastest route would take them along rarely traveled backroads where River could ignore the speed limit without fear of police detection. Despite that, it would take them close to half an hour to get there. It would be a tense ride.

River was practically vibrating with nervous energy. V recognized it as the final burst of sleep-deprived adrenaline at the ragged edge of the body's limit. She knew from experience that once it was expended, he would collapse, exhausted, into fitful and restless sleep, as if his body could no longer remember how to recover. River’s infectious tension and the stim she’d taken earlier were beginning to abrade V’s nerves. To steady herself, she checked her weapon, extra ammo clips, cyberdeck, medical inhalers, and the rest of any gear she might want at hand. Then she double-checked them.

“Dammit,” River whispered, finally breaking the silence. “Please let this work.”

V didn’t think he was really talking to her, but she answered anyway. “It’s gotta work,” she said, summoning the same confidence she’d used to convince Joss. “Done more in two days than the NCPD accomplished in weeks.”

He snorted. “Not hard to do, but yeah, you’re right. Thanks, V…” he trailed off. “Argh! If I’d only known sooner how he felt, what was eatin’ at him. I’m his uncle, V. And I wasn’t there for him. Fuck!” he exclaimed, striking the wheel.

“This isn’t your fault, River. Even if you’d known…Harris is a pro. He manipulated Randy—you saw the messages. Every trick in the book. Isolating him from his family. Insisting that only he understood how Randy felt. The gifts. The secrecy. It’s textbook. Even if you had known, anything you did would’ve probably driven Randy closer to him. It’s how predators like Harris operate.

“We’ll find Randy,” she assured him. “We’ll get him out of there. The other kids, too.”

 _And then I’ll deal with Harris_ , she thought.

She’d been contemplating it on the drive. Having been inside his mind—she cut the thought short, shivering at the recollection. Harris hadn’t been born a monster; he was forced into the shape of one. He’d suffered cruel abuse as a child. But his mind now...V didn’t think there was any rehabilitating a mind like that, twisted beyond the shape of a human as it was. Better to put him down and spare his future victims the torment.

As the scrubby desert streaked by, V thought she saw the dimmest gray at the horizon. She checked the time. 04:49. It wasn’t just the haze from the city tricking her eyes but the time called astronomical dawn, when the angle of the sun was shallow enough to barely tinge the sky with color.

“We’re getting close,” River announced as they turned down a dirt road. There were scattered buildings in the distance, but the shapes were indistinct. “There.” He pointed to the end of the road where V could see a tall chain-link fence and the shapes of two mature trees. There was a gate, chained shut, with a farmhouse and barn beyond.

“Hold on,” warned River.

V clutched the grab handle and braced herself against the dash. Flooring the accelerator, he drove straight into the gate. It ripped from its hinges and crunched under the wheels of the truck. V and River lurched forward as the truck came to a sudden stop. River immediately sprang out of the vehicle, but V stayed put, sizing up the area.

There were more security turrets outside than she’d seen in the braindance: two on the porch of the farmhouse, and two more in front of the barn, though those were out of range of her optical scanner. The pair on the farmhouse she should be able to dismantle remotely with her cyberdeck, but she still wondered where the control deck for all the security was, since she hadn’t seen it in the barn.

She was switching her optics to thermal imaging when River called from outside, “If we stay along the fence, we should be able to keep out of range of those turrets.” As her optics shifted, she saw the death trap that awaited him, but River was already starting to move toward the barn.

“Shit!” she swore, diving across the seats to tumble out the driver’s side. She tackled River, slamming him into the side of the truck where the cab met the bed.

“V,” he grunted. “W-What the h—”

“You lead-brained gonk!” she yelled at him. “You’re gonna get yourself blown up!”

“What’re you—”

“ _Look_ ,” she insisted, tapping him on the temple next to his cybernetic eye. “The place is a _minefield_.”

With thermal imaging, V could see the network of mines shallowly buried under the soil, giving off small yellow circles of electronic heat against the cool blue backdrop of the ground. They were networked together. Setting one off could detonate the whole area, but it also meant they could all be deactivated at once. It was logical, since Harris would need to disarm them before stepping foot on the property.

“Just _wait_ and let me figure it out,” she said through gritted teeth.

She realized she was still holding him pinned to the truck. He stood a full head taller than she did, and with his brawny physique he probably outweighed her by a hundred pounds, yet she’d thrown him back and pinned him without thought. She huffed as she tried to catch her breath from the sudden exertion. Her heart pounded in her temples. V let him go, stepping back and feeling the rush of adrenaline subside. River looked at her wide-eyed, but simply nodded as she released him.

V turned and scanned the area. Her fingers were still shaking. “Farmhouse, gotta be where the control deck’s located. We know it’s not in the barn. Probably got a remote deactivator that he carries with him, but it would still require a central control.”

Her scanner couldn’t penetrate the interior of the farmhouse, but she could see the cables that powered the two security turrets on the porch snaking their way up the side of the house and through a window. She pointed this out to River.

“Second floor,” she concluded.

Pulling out her cyberdeck, she attacked the two porch turrets with a daemon to deactivate them. There was still the problem of the mines, however. There were simply too many to disarm one by one without overloading the cyberdeck’s RAM. Fortunately, there was a small shed to their right with a roof she could safely access. From there, she could grab on to the limb of one of the large, sprawling trees and climb across to the porch roof.

V told River her plan.

“Just be careful,” he said.

“Of the two of us, it’s not me I’m worried about being careful,” she retorted.

The tree’s branches weren’t as sturdy as they’d looked from the ground, so she had to scramble across quickly to an external AC vent and from there, she skirted around the side of the house to the porch roof. The nearest window wasn’t even locked, a small miracle.

Once inside the house, she quickly found a computer terminal. It wasn’t networked to the turrets, however. There must be another one. It took some searching – seconds ticking by felt like minutes – but eventually she found a switch under the desk. A hidden door swung open to her right. The control deck.

It was quick work to disarm the security. Having physically hidden the control center, Harris hadn’t bothered encrypting access to the terminal’s commands. Out of over-cautious habit, V copied the contents of the terminal onto a spare memory shard. Then, tucking it away, she jogged down the stairs and left the house through the front door.

She motioned to River that it was clear, and they both started running toward the barn.


	12. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With River escorting Randy to the hospital, V wraps up the case.

The sun’s final chord crested over the desert mountains far to the east of Night City, bringing warmth undiluted by clear air. It was only when you got closer to the city that smog, a byproduct of the city’s proximity to the ocean and its unrestricted pollution, blanketed the ground. V, somewhere in the middle, sat in the bed of River Ward’s Thorton pickup sipping grainy black coffee from a Styrofoam cup.

Across the farmyard, the rotary blades of a Trauma Team aerodyne spun to life. The EMTs were loading the final gurney onto the AV. NCPD had cordoned off the area. V watched from the other side of holographic barricade tape as Detective River Ward strode authoritatively toward her. She wondered if he’d go back to the NCPD after all this. Despite his suspension from the force, a case like the one he’d just cracked would surely earn him accolades from the media, which in turn would look good for the higher-ups in the NCPD.

A little over an hour ago, they’d discovered River’s nephew Randy inside the barn at the far end of the farmyard. He’d been hooked up to machinery designed to pump medicine into sick livestock. After shutting of the central machine that controlled the dosages to the stalls, River and V had forced loose the locking bar that held Randy in place. He was unconscious but alive. Some of the other victims – all teenage boys – hadn’t been so lucky. They’d managed to rescue three in total.

River, with his best badge voice, had called for NCPD backup. The cops arrived about half an hour later – they were out in the sticks, so response time was slow, even for the NCPD – with Trauma Team in tow. With everything in hand, V had decided it was best to keep herself inconspicuous. She didn’t relish the thought of being interrogated by a bunch of badges, preferring to keep her opinions and identity a secret. River had interfaced with the cops. They spoke the same language.

Now, River walked over to the truck and stood next to her, leaning back against the lowered bed.

“How’s he doin’?” V asked.

“Still unconscious,” River said. “But they said he’s stable. The odds are good for a full recovery, but who knows when he’ll wake up.”

“And the others?”

“The same, more or less. The ones that survived—they were more recent victims. NCPD IDed most of ‘em. Families should be notified soon.”

V nodded. They watched in exhausted silence as the cops made a final sweep of the premises. TT was loading up their gear.

“I’m not about to leave it like this,” said River quietly. “The horror that bastard inflicted…Can’t let it go.” He looked sidelong at V.

She stared straight ahead and took a sip of coffee. “Want help with that?” she asked coldly. V didn’t take hit jobs as a rule, but she’d come to the conclusion that Harris was a rabid dog. It would be a mercy to him, and to his victims, to put him down. For River—and for her—it would be vengeance.

River shook his head. “Appreciate your dedication, V…but this is between me and Harris. Gonna take him out in my own way, amidst all this confusion.”

“They’ll catch you,” V warned. She wasn’t sure River could do it alone. He was decent in a firefight, as he’d proven when they’d infiltrated the Red Queen’s Race, but that was an entirely different animal from murder. Some cops might take the job for the chance at violence, but not River. He’d been one of the good ones.

“No, they won’t,” he reassured her. “I’m…Well..That is, I was a detective, remember? I know how to cover my tracks.”

“If you change your mind, just remember I could flatline him without even stepping foot in the hospital. No trace.”

It wouldn’t even be that difficult. She’d just need to know what alias the cops were holding him under. If she could get line of sight to any networked hospital computer, or better yet find an external terminal, she could remote in, take over the cameras, find Harris – because he would certainly be under surveillance – and turn off his breathing apparatus or overload his IV. Top-tier hospitals hired netrunners to patrol their security systems, but V doubted the NCPD budget stretched so far for a serial kidnapper and murderer.

River nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The aerodyne pilot was walking over toward them. Stopping a few feet short of the barricade he called, “We’re ready for evac. You riding along?”

“Be right there,” River shouted back.

He turned back to V. “Listen, V. When I called…Well, we never discussed payment, but I’ve got a little saved—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll block you on every comm there is,” V warned, interrupting him. “Not takin’ your money. ‘Sides, you’ll need it. Trauma Team’s not cheap.”

“Nothing I can say’ll be thanks enough for what you’ve done.”

“So don’t say it,” she hopped down with a grin. “C’mon, if you don’t hurry, they’ll leave without you. I’ll take your ride back to Joss’s.”

“It uses a Seed,” he cautioned, holding up his thumb.

“Yeah, and I’m a criminal,” she retorted, pushing herself off the truck bed. She stood straight, grinning. “Though if you wanna save me five seconds, you could unlock it for me.”

He rolled his eyes, and despite his tiredness, the ghost of a smile crossed his lips. River crossed around to the driver’s side and unlocked the door, holding it open for V to climb in.

“I pinged Joss to let her know we found him. They’re gonna take him to the Sector B4 Medical Center.”

“That building’s a fossil,” V remarked. It had belonged to the Old Downtown of the city, back before they’d redistricted.

“Yeah, but it’s nearest Heywood precinct. NCPD wanna keep an eye on the victims.” River closed the door. Through the open window, he added, “Try not to worry Joss too much.”

“I won’t,” she promised. “Now go catch your ride.”

He hesitated, looking like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he just shook his head and stepped back from the truck with a wave. V jacked her personal link into the dash and overrode the security. The engine revved. By the time she’d driven through the ruins of the chain link gate, the AV was already in the sky.

* * *

After a leisurely drive across the desert dawnscape, V pulled off the highway and into the trailer park where Joss lived. River’s sister must have heard the truck coming because she stepped out onto the foundation that doubled as a porch just as V killed the engine. V grabbed her gear before stepping out of the truck. Joss paced nervously as V approached, but she didn’t descend the steps.

“He’s okay?” she said, shakily.

“Yeah,” V said. “Yeah, Joss, he’s gonna be fine. River’s with him now.”

Joss wobbled unsteadily. Before her legs could give out, V grabbed her by the arm and guided her to a patio chair. Joss collapsed and leaning forward buried her face in her hands. She let out a choked sound, somewhere between a sob and an exhalation. V dropped her bag and pulled another patio chair up close to sit near her. Moments passed, and then Joss composed herself, rubbing her face with her hands and sitting back upright.

“The kids asleep?” asked V.

“Yeah, they won’t be up for a couple hours. I couldn’t sleep. Been up ever since you left. Would you grab my cigarettes? They’re on the kitchen table, and I’m afraid my legs’ll give out if I try to make it that far.”

“Sure thing.”

Inside, the trailer was dark and quiet. V could hear only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the outside generators. Dinner plates still sat out on the kitchen table. The pack of cigarettes was mostly empty. An ashtray of butts was situated next to them, along with Joss’s lighter. She grabbed the carton and lighter and returned to Joss.

“Thanks.” Joss lit up and inhaled. “V, tell me what happened.”

“I, uh…” V stammered. She breathed in, bracing. “Honestly, Joss, it’s better if you don’t know the details—at least at this point,” she added, seeing Joss’s look. “Trauma Team thinks he’ll make a full recovery, but, uh…it’s gonna take some time. The damage…won’t be just physical.” It was a lame attempt to downplay the horror of what they’d witnessed. Joss narrowed her eyes. Whether or not she saw right through it, she didn’t press further.

“What about River?” she asked, with a curious hitch in her voice.

“I believe he’d’ve found Randy even if it killed him.” _It nearly did_. “Never seen someone so determined,” V said truthfully.

“That’s my brother. He’s stubborn. It’s why—well, never mind,” she trailed off. “Don’t know how to thank you for everything you’ve done for my family, V.”

“Didn’t do much. River did most of it, putting the pieces together,” she replied. “He deserves the credit.”

“I’m guessin’ he’d say the same about you,” Joss replied. V had no response to that.

They sat in silence while Joss finished her cigarette. The sun was rising high enough to burn away the condensation that had formed into droplets along the metal patio furniture and steel awning of the trailer. Long shadows that stretched across the yard slowly crept back.

“Let me call my neighbor to watch the kids,” said Joss at length. “I can give you a ride into town on the way to the hospital.”

“Can you unlock River’s truck?”

“Yep, he added me when he bought it.”

Joss picked up her Agent and went inside the trailer. V stayed put.

A few minutes later, Joss came back out. “V, after everything you’ve done, I hate to ask more of you, but Mrs. Nez isn’t picking up. She sometimes visits her son in the city. Would you be able to stay with the kids a couple of hours? You can sleep if you want—I’d just feel better knowing someone was here watching them.”

“Yeah, sure, Joss. You mind if I use your shower?”

“Of course. There are towels in the bathroom closet. Help yourself to anything in the fridge—anything you want. And lemme give you my contact info—“

After double-checking that the kids were asleep and gathering her belongings, Joss left to drive to the hospital. V, tired but too on edge to sleep, cleared the plates from the table and washed them in the sink. She piled the kids’ toys, which were strewn about the small living area, into a box in the corner. Then she wiped down the counters and tabletop.

Feeling more relaxed knowing that things were tidy, V took a shower just long enough to wash the night off. It took willpower not to stand under the scalding water until she’d drained the tank, which is what she’d have done in her own apartment. Or better yet, taken a long bubble bath. Soon, she promised herself.

V combed her wet hair out with her fingers and toweled off, once again donning the same set of clothes she’d worn the night before. Then, she collapsed on the couch, propping her bare feet up a worn macramé pouf. 

She’d barely closed her eyes when she heard the tentative padding of small feet. V cracked an eye open to see Dorian peering around the doorframe into the living room.

“V?” he whispered.

“Hey, Dorian.”

“Where’s Mom?”

“She’s gone to see Randy. She’ll be back in a little while. I’ll stay here until she gets back, if that’s okay with you?”

He nodded.

Monique must have heard the commotion because she came to the door behind him. “Randy’s gonna be okay?” she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Yeah, he’s a little sick, but he’s gonna be fine.”

“Can we see him?”

“Soon, I’ll bet.” She didn’t want to worry them, nor did she want to make false promises.

“Can we watch cartoons?” Dorian asked, evidently satisfied with this answer.

“Sure, just don’t turn it up too loud.”

V was surprised when he bounded over to the couch and sat right up against her. He grabbed the remote from nearby and switched the small TV expertly to his preferred channel. Monique wasn’t far behind, electing to sit on V’s left. Sandwiched between them, V propped her arms on the back of the sofa and tilted her head back.

“Can I braid your hair _now_?” Monique asked.

“Go for it, kid.”


End file.
